Dear Ryan
by ChaseII
Summary: Final Chapter! After the Season 2 finale shooting, a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed …
1. Chapter 1

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: In my little world, Kirsten has not been allowed to communicate with anyone from Newport since arriving at the Center. Therefore, she does not know about Trey. (FYI, in my universe, Trey survives. I can't stand Ryan having to live with the onus of responsibility for his own brother's death...)

This is my first multi-chapter offering – to be told in a short series of chapters and letters… All reviews are deeply appreciated.

**Time: Late morning, the day after Kirsten goes to Suriak. The day after Trey is shot …**

>>>>>>

Sandy eyed the telephone with trepidation, waiting for it to ring. Wondering whether he even wanted to answer it when it did.

As he waited, he asked himself again how his family had become 'that family'.

Some of the explanations were obvious. He sifted through the major items: the impact of the boys leaving last summer; his own ill-considered and reckless responses to Rebecca's reappearance in his life; Caleb's legal issues that had endangered Kirsten; the whole Lindsay revelation followed by her unanticipated departure; Trey's arrival and the ensuing disruptions; Kirsten's near-consuming involvement with _Newport Living_; Caleb's heart attack and death …

Other problems were more insidious, chipping away steadily from the inside. Chipping away at their very foundation, forming tiny crevices that went largely unnoticed. That had steadily lengthened and widened, becoming ever more dangerous.

One tiny crack at a time. One glass at a time. One unattended problem at a time. Until his wife and son were swallowed … lost in the abyss.

Kirsten – his strength, she who grounded him, who held their family together – had been fractured. He still found it inconceivable that it had come to this. That in the end, there had been no choice, as Kirsten checked into Suriak, a treatment center for alcohol abuse.

He hadn't spoken with her since yesterday when they said goodbye in the empty hallway – since she lifted her fingers in the air, releasing a final kiss to cross their distances.

He wouldn't be permitted to communicate with her for nearly two more days, as she completed the critical detox phase of her treatment.

Her doctors insisted she be shielded from new pain. _She doesn't need this burden now_, they counseled. _Wait until your visit. Give her that time to start her healing. We'll speak with her together._

And so he shouldered singly this new weight thrust upon him. Revealed in fragments through Seth's phone call, received as he drove home from Suriak.

The words had been disjointed. Ryan. Trey. Hospital. Cops. Gunshot. Marissa.

He had barely made sense of anything his son had said. What he had known was this – something had gonehorribly wrong, and he needed to be there.

He recalled Marissa's state of shock last night, which meltedintobody-racking sobs as the girl clung desperately to her father. His relief whenher parents took her home.

He remembered Seth's ashen face as they sat in the waiting room at the hospital.

His own temper snapping as Seth started to explain what had happened.

_His angry words, "What on earth were you thinking? What ever possessed you to tell him about Trey, anyway? Why didn't you come to me first?"_

_Seth's sharp response, "I don't know, Dad. Maybe because you're never around? Because we've gotten used to dealing with things pretty much on our own this year?"_

_Feeling kicked in the gut, with the truth. Reaching for Seth's shoulders. Holding them gently between his hands, as he waited for his son to look him at him… _

_When at last his child's eyes met his, saying softly "You're right, son. But that all changes, right now. I promise."_

_Seeing tears in the deep brown eyes threatening to spill, as the boy replied haltingly, "Good, because we really need you." _

_Seth swiping his eyes with his arm, and looking toward where Ryan was slumped in a corner. _

"_I've never seen him like this Dad. It's like his eyes just went dead, and then he became someone else. Like Ryan just disappeared."_

_Seth's face filled with overpowering guilt and sadness, as he whispered, "I'm so sorry…" _

_Folding the lanky teenager into his arms, mumbling, "I know…I know."_

_Sandy wondering if Ryan hadn't disappeared much earlier. Upon his return to Newport. _

_The perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect student – all a mask he should have seen through. Should have dealt with. _

_But he had been too occupied, and it had been convenient to accept the face that Ryan wore for them. To ignore the demons hidden underneath._

_Whispering into his son's brown curls, "I'm sorry, too." _

He recalled Ryan's glazed eyes from last night, and the angry red marks around his neck where Trey had nearly choked him. He had watched as the teenager was treated for his injuries. Then photographed, to preserve evidence of the bruising around his throat. Over other parts of his body.

He had waited with his sons while Trey was in surgery, his survival in question. Knowing that whether the young man lived or died, his body would be photographed, too. That the bruises would be evidence against Ryan. That the bullet which passed through Trey's body ended the fight that Ryan started.

He could still hear Ryan's short, polite, but emotionally withdrawn responses to the barrage of questions from the police. Hear himself advise when to say nothing to police anxious to determine responsibility. Assign culpability.

He thought of his attempt to engage Ryan in conversation, as they waited to learn his brother's fate.

_The boy sitting slouched in a chair by a window in the far corner of the waiting room, partially hidden by a scraggly ficus._

"_Ryan?" _

_Seeing the glassy eyes reflected in the window, staring without focus. Seeing no movement or sign of response._

_Moving around the ficus, to lean against the window. Being rewarded with an upward flick of the dark blue eyes. Ryan's voice gravelly as he spoke. "You shouldn't be here." Ryan glancing at Seth and adding, "Neither should he."_

"_You're here, we're here. It's that simple."_

_Ryan rubbing his battered knuckles, and whispering softly, "Nothing's that simple." _

_The beaten teen refusing to say anything else until at last the doctor came out to indicate that Trey would recover. _

_Laying a hand on his foster-son's shoulder. "Let's go home, Ryan. We can come back to see Trey when he wakes up in the morning."_

_Ryan rising at last from his chair, allowing Sandy to direct him towards the car. Turning to Sandy and saying his final words of the evening, "I'm not coming back here. Not for him."_

The telephone startled him out of his reflections. He let it ring five times before he picked it up.

>>>>>>

"Thanks. I'll let him know," Sandy promised, speaking into the mouthpiece.

He sighed as he hung up the telephone, relieved that the conversation had gone as well as he could have hoped. One small victory …

He sat back in his chair, in the relative shelter of his home office. The one room in the house that was least reminiscent of Kirsten. The only place where he didn't expect to see her at any moment, shining bright and golden like his own resplendent sun.

Everywhere else inside the house, the void took his breath away.

For the thousandth time, he cursed his own stupidity. His inattention and arrogance. His neglect of both marital and parental responsibility.

Had anyone ever been given so much, and yet protected it so carelessly?

He took in a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He didn't have time for this self-flagellation, no matter how much he might deserve it.

He didn't have time for anything that took his eye off the challenges ahead of him. He needed to pick his battles carefully, and play each one to win. Because salvaging his family was by far the most important fight of his life.

Rising with determination, he made his way to the pool house. Denied contact with Kirsten, he could not be the husband he promised himself he _would_ be. That would have to wait.

But he could damn well be a parent.

>>>>>>

From the kitchen, Sandy could see through the open blinds of the pool house. Ryan appeared to be working at his desk, with a textbook spread open in front of him. Sandy was struck with how normal it all looked …

Earlier, the boy had come into the kitchen to get coffee, but only after Seth had gone to school with Summer. Other than a mumbled greeting, the teen had said nothing, retreating to the pool house as soon as his cup was full.

It was a fine line, Sandy thought, between reaching out to Ryan, and threatening his much-prized privacy. But it was a line he would have to traverse. If not today, then soon. Very soon.

Crossing to the pool house, Sandy knocked on the door. Ryan looked across, and motioned for him to come inside.

"Hey, kid. How are you feeling?" Sandy winced as he saw the purple marks around the boy's neck, and the blackened eye and bruised face.

Sandy watched Ryan duck his head, as though to hide the offending bruises. Watched him pull his head up once more, grimace and raise his eyebrows, as he replied "Been better, I guess."

The teen rose stiffly from his chair and stepped down carefully to the lower level of his room. Sandy saw him bite his lip as the steep step down must have jarred his battered ribs and torso.

"Did you take the pain medication the doctor gave you?"

"Yeah. The one she said I had to take. Not the other one." He nodded toward his nightstand, where one pill rested alone on the surface.

Sandy stared at his foster-son, considering whether strength or stubbornness drove the boy to refuse the relief afforded. "Your choice, but don't suffer needlessly. Your body has to heal, and it can do that more easily when it's not waging war on pain."

Ryan shrugged. "It's not that bad. I promise, if it gets worse, I'll take the mega pain killer, okay?"

"Okay," Sandy agreed, glad for at least some token acquiescence from the boy. The truth was, he reflected sadly, that Ryan had probably suffered far worse physical pain in the past.

It was the boy's emotional well-being that concerned Sandy more. How do you deal with the aftermath of a near duel to the death with your brother?

And how much did Ryan need to know of the potential legal consequences emanating from last night's heartbreak? _For the moment_, Sandy thought, _less is definitely more_ …

Sandy took a stab at something else. "I spoke with the hospital early this morning. Trey can have visitors, if you want to see him."

Ryan's eyes flashed. "I don't."

"Just checking, Ryan. In case you changed your mind." Sandy explained apologetically.

The teenager held Sandy's gaze for several seconds before he dropped his eyes to stare at his hands. His tone was resolute as he replied, "I won't."

Sandy decided not to mention his own intention to visit Trey. He had his reasons, but for the moment he would keep some things to himself.

He searched for a neutral topic. "Have you eaten anything?" Sandy asked, thinking how Kirsten worried about Ryan's negligible appetite.

"Not hungry," came the anticipated response.

"Nevertheless, you have to eat. How about a bagel? Or some toast?" he asked.

Ryan sighed, and gave in. "Okay. Toast. But just one slice."

Sandy smiled encouragingly, and said, "Then follow me to kitchen, kid. I'm getting better with the toaster…"

Inside the kitchen, Ryan climbed gingerly onto a bar stool, and looked warily at his guardian. Sandy noted his expression, as he quickly dropped two slices of wholegrain bread into the toaster.

Ryan surprised him, speaking first. "Sandy, if this is where you tell me how bad I screwed up, can we please wait until later? I need some time right now. Please …"

Sandy heard the catch in the boy's voice, and saw the unsettled blue eyes. Maybe talking later would be better, anyway. He'd have more information. Have a clearer picture of what they were really facing.

He stepped across the space separating him from his foster son, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder gently, cautious of his bruises. "We can wait, son. But not too long."

The toast popped up noisily, almost drowning Ryan's hushed "Thanks."

Sandy squeezed the boys shoulder carefully, and brushed the side of his purpled face before turning his attention to the toast.

Handing one slice to Ryan, he buttered the second, just in case, and set it on the counter.

"I talked to Dr. Kim this morning. She says you can continue to work from home temporarily. Until you're ready to go back to school. Seth will bring your assignments, and you can also communicate by email."

Ryan looked at him skeptically. "You mean, _if_ I go back," he said softly.

"We'll get through this, kid," Sandy said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Smiling reassuringly at the teen.

Ryan grimaced fleetingly in response, but said nothing.

As Ryan ate, Sandy recalled his conversation with Dr. Kim. From hints she had dropped it was clear that she felt pressured fromHarbor parents to take action against the teenager. To his relief, she had assured Sandy that there would be no automatic suspension or expulsion from the private academy.

Of course, she also had made it clear that if charges were ultimately brought against Ryan, everything would change.

Ryan finished his toast in silence, and placed his hands on the countertop, ready to push away. "Can I go now?" he asked. "I'd like to lie down for a little while."

Sandy grudgingly nodded, eyeing the second piece of toast sitting untouched. "Okay, but you need to take your next medication, and I want you back in here for dinner. Clear?" He kept his voice gentle, but firm.

Ryan took the tablet and bottle of juice that Sandy handed him, downing the medication quickly. "Clear," he answered, sliding off the stool, and escaping to his room.

Sandy watched the adolescent retreat to the pool house, and begin to lower the blinds closest to the house. Sandy stood staring as the blinds slowly blocked his view, thinking them symbolic of the less tangible but more effective emotional barriers his foster-son so often slid into place.

He stood transfixed for several minutes, before returning to his office.

There were more phone calls to be made. More people to see. The police. The ADA. Ryan's PO. Trey's PO. Child Services.

So many victories to be won. Because the price of losing would be far too high.

TBC


	2. Dear Ryan

Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she wants to explain.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

**Time: Kirsten's second morning in rehab. Day 3 at Suriak. **

**>>>>>>**

Kirsten rearranged herself in the over-sized chair, pressing her back more firmly into the soft down cushions. She rubbed one bare foot absently against a soft blue chenille throw as she concentrated on the laptop she held balanced on her thighs.

She chewed her lip as she re-read her final letter home. The letter she saved until last, searching for the words. The right words.

To explain. To comfort. To connect.

She envied her husband and her son, with their easy flow of language. But she was different, she who dwelt in facts and figures. For she held back her feelings.

What if she said too much, and frightened him?

Or didn't say enough, and lost him in her silence? Two satellites, forever orbiting in disconnected space...

She re-read once more.

Hesitated ... her finger poised above the touchpad...

_How daunting, to expose your heart this way. To reveal yourself in words. _

And yet. And yet…

_He was worth the risk._

She clicked 'Send'.

>>>>>>

Dear Ryan,

They have finally given me permission to write emails to my family. It's not as good as seeing each of you in person, or even talking with you on the telephone, but I guess it's a start…

As difficult as it is to admit, I think coming here was the right thing. Even though I fought against it, I'm beginning to realize that I need the help that they can give me. I'm starting to put some of the pieces into place, with the guidance and care of the doctors and counselors.

It will not be simple, though, because I am asked to share my thoughts and feelings with strangers, and that does not come easily for me. I often think we are alike that way, you and I.

I go through my day, and am struck by how odd it is to feel alone,with people all around me. It seems there is always a group meeting, or a counseling session, or a yoga class, or massage therapy… and yet, in the midst of all that activity, I find myself missing you guys every minute.

Only at night do I actually have time to myself – time to think. Last night, I thought a lot about you, Ryan.

I am so worried that I may have hurt you, when you were trying to help me. Over the last months, I have said things – hurtful things – to so many people I love. I find myself replaying conversations I wish I could erase.

Like what I said to you the day of the intervention. I am so very sorry, Ryan.

I have no excuse for the words I used, but I want to explain to you – to the extent I can make any real sense of my thoughts – _why_ I said the things I did.

When I realized that I was the subject of an intervention, my first reaction was instinctive. _Self-preservation_.

I remember looking around the kitchen. Quickly assessing the danger each of you posed to my own self-image. Dr. Woodruff. Sandy. Hailey. And you.

What I was searching for were reasons not to listen...

Dr. Woodruff was easy. I didn't know him. He meant nothing to me. I had no reason to trust him, or believe what he said. Therefore, I knew his words could not touch me.

Sandy was next. Although I love him more than life – enough to know that we'll make it through this together – you've seen us struggle over the last year. Justified or not, I knew I could draw upon our distance to defuse the impact of his truths.

With Hailey's own sobriety issues, anything she might say could be easily discounted. (Which is not to say she wasn't right -- only that in my mind I could justify not _hearing_ her...)

The fact is, you were the one person in the room who frightened me. I think, even in my fog, I knew I would have no defense against things you could say. And I knew if you spoke, you wouldn't lie to me. Your honesty – at that moment -- was terrifying.

I knew…I know…that I have not been much of a mother this year, to you or to Seth. I remember being so afraid you'd tell me what a lousy parent I've been. I was afraid that you'd tell me that I hadn't been there when you needed me. Tell me that I had failed you, just like others have before. Because it's true.

Because of the alcohol. Because of my weakness.

I think I would have said _anything_ at that moment to keep you quiet. But you spoke anyway.

As you stepped forward, I held my breath. In my sickness, I waited for you to condemn me, as I knew you could.

Were I thinking clearly, I would have realized how foolish my fears were. For you have always been understanding and gentle with me. Considerate of my needs. My feelings. Even at your own expense.

I know that, when my senses are not dulled.

But you have a habit of surprising me, as you did then. When, despite my hateful outburst, you asked me to get help because I'm someone you love.

For you to say that to me, in front of everyone there – what an incredible gift, Ryan. Even then, I understood that much. The enormity of your words.

You may wonder why I didn't answer you.

I think you may understand how pride and pain can conspire to build powerful walls. Like the wall of denial I had firmly in place. That started to crumble as you spoke to me.

There was nothing I could say to you that would allow me to keep my walls intact. That would not force me to recognize I had a problem. Admit that I needed help.

So I chose to address Dr. Woodruff, instead. I could still deny my addiction to him, even if I couldn't do the same with you. Just like you wouldn't lie to me, I couldn't lie to you, either.

I was still reeling from your words when I turned to see Seth. His plea, combined with your own, are why I am here.

My _sons_ are _undeniable_.

Thank you, sweetheart, for caring so very much. I want you to know that it made the difference.

Communication may not always be our greatest strength, Ryan, but going forward, I don't want to leave important things unsaid between us.

And so, I ask for your forgiveness for all my failings this past year.

I also ask for your understanding and support as I go through the healing process. As I try to get my life together. This is actually a huge thing I'm asking. I'm responsible for my own life, and I accept that responsibility. But I need you guys beside me ...

Suriak is just a first step. I know the road ahead is long, and there may be bumps along the way. I'm talking counseling. Workshops. Family therapy. And plenty of Kirsten/Ryan, Kirsten/Sandy, Kirsten/Seth time going forward...

I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm asking anyway. I want _us_ back. Our family.

Because there is nothing in this world that means more to me than our family. Sandy, Seth, and _you_. And my sisters, too. You are the people who complete me.

Most importantly, now and always -- _I love you, Ryan…_

With all my heart,

Kirsten

>>>>>>

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: My _heartfelt_ thanks to my reviewers! I am indebted to you for your willingness to take the time to share your thoughts; I am delighted with your intriguing incites into the characters and situations (many of which parallel my own); and am most grateful for your encouragement and generosity, as well as your constructive eye. I am here to learn …

And to everyone who reads this – glad to have you stopping by!

A/N2: To avoid confusion on my timeline, I will use "Day Two, Day Three, etc." For reference, Day One is the day Kirsten checks into Suriak – the same day Trey is shot. (Chapter One is set on Day Two, Chapter Two is set on the morning of Day Three…)

**>>>>>>**

**Time: Late Afternoon of Day Three. **

Sandy was relieved to see the familiar convertible in the driveway as he pulled up to the house. Maybe Summer could get Seth out for a while, so he could talk privately with Ryan.

_Try_ to talk _with_ Ryan, he amended as he climbed out of the sedan. Halfway to the house conceded he'd more likely talk _to_ Ryan. Although the boy had actually initiated a conversation this morning, he reminded himself hopefully.

Before he reached the entry the heavy door flew open, Seth and Summer pouring out. Seth was backpedaling, as the two appeared embroiled in some animated discussion.

As teen arms flailed wildly and voices tangled together, Sandy paused in amused silence, waiting for the pair to notice him.

He bit back a chuckle when he saw Summer's eyes suddenly widen, as the girl stopped mid-sentence, grabbed Seth's arm, and spun him around to face his father.

Seth's body slumped in exaggerated relief. "Glad you're back, Dad. Summer wanted to get out of the house for a little while, but I was worried about leaving Ryan…"

Sandy caught Summer's steely glare, and Seth's quickly lowered head. The girl's narrowed eyes and furrowed brow said clearly she wasn't finished with his son, but her expression softened as she turned her gaze to Sandy. The smile she offered was genuine, if perhaps uncertain.

"Hi, Mr. Cohen. I … uh, I think maybe I should just, you know, go, and let you guys talk. Or whatever …" she said, her bright brown eyes concerned.

Sandy returned her smile, thinking how perceptive the girl could be sometimes. How he had come to rely on her in these last few days to help keep Seth distracted. Not let his son sink too deeply into emptiness.

"Wait, Summer. Just give me a minute with Seth, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll just wait over there, in my car," she said to Sandy, before narrowing her eyes once more at Seth.

The boy looked at her wide-eyed, hitched up his shoulders, and spread his hands, as though protesting innocence.

Sandy ducked his head to hide a grin, as he could see the girl wasn't buying whatever Seth was selling.

"Ow!" his son yelped, one hand flying to his rump as Summer slipped past the teen. "Okay, already," he muttered to Summer, watching her stride towards the convertible, heels clicking sharply.

"Something you wanna' tell me?" Sandy asked, tilting his head meaningfully in the girl's direction once he had Seth's attention.

Seth tried to hold Sandy's gaze, but failed. Scrunching up his face the boy came clean, "Actually, Summer was worried about leaving Ryan."

His voice tinged by a false note of bravado, he continued, "I tried to tell her he likes his solitude at times like these. That's not insensitive, is it? I mean, the guy likes his space – I give him space, right?"

"Cohen!" the petite brunette snapped, as she seated herself behind the wheel, crossing her arms and drawing dark eyebrows together. "Tell him!" she commanded.

"I thought you were waiting in the car," Seth returned defensively, looking past his father to his girlfriend.

"Yeah. Well, a convertible isn't exactly soundproof now, is it?" the girl responded tartly.

Sandy mimicked Seth's quick upraise of eyebrows as they looked at one another. The boy conceded, "She's got a point."

Sandy nodded. "She seems to have more than one." His stomach tightened as he watched his son's discomfort. "I'm guessing there's something more going on than simply giving Ryan space?" he probed.

Seth swallowed, and admitted. "Yeah. He's acting… I don't know. Different."

Sandy frowned. "Different how?"

Seth ducked his head as he seemed to fight for control of his face. Raising his head once again, he brought the knuckles of one hand up against his mouth, tapping softly as though in thought.

He stopped, lowered his loose fist, and spread his palm face up, fingers splayed. The hand moved expressively, as it seemed to punctuate his words.

"It's not just that he threw me out. Well, not threw me out exactly, because that would entail moving. More like 'froze' me out, I guess. Ignored that I existed." The boy paused, frowning. Finished "You get the picture…"

Sandy got it, but was still at a loss. He took a moment to formulate his next question.

As though anticipating, Seth held up his hand to stop Sandy's interruption. "But that's not what I'm talking about." Frowned, distracted for an instant "Although it is unsettling."

Instantly refocused and continued, "It's just, there's something more. Today, after school, it was like 'Ryan, Intensified'. With all the silence and brooding he's been into lately suddenly super-sized. And so not in a good way…"

Sandy moved a step closer to his son, laying one hand soothingly upon his shoulder.

The boy opened his mouth, as if to speak again, but this time no words formed.

Seth looked down, and quickly back, and tried once more. "The thing is …it's not just that he's not talking. It's that … I dunno, it's like he's just _checked out_ … And I keep waiting for him to come back, and be Ryan again, and he doesn't. And it's like…"

The words stopped, as the corners of his mouth contorted. Liquid brown eyes now betrayed his fear, as he finished softly, "… I don't know if he _can_."

Sandy's shoulders slumped a little as he let out a sigh. He gathered Seth into a one-armed hug and squeezed gently. He felt Seth's weight as the boy shifted slightly, pressing against him as though searching for support. Sandy braced himself, and squeezed tighter.

Seth looked sideways at his father, and strangled out a question. "What can I do, Dad? What does he need?"

Sandy summoned a mask of confidence, to reassure his child.

"Son, the best thing you can do for Ryan is simply _be here_ for him. He needs to realize you're not going _anywhere_, no matter how hard he pushes you away. Or how long he isolates himself."

Seth blinked and nodded. "Don't worry. I got that covered."

Sandy smiled, and ruffled Seth's dark curls as he released his grip on the boy's shoulders. 'I know you do. And I'll take care of parenting, okay?"

The lanky teenager gave him a tilted half-smile. "Glad to have you back on the job."

Sandy's eyes sought his son's and held them. "_Count_ on it. Count on _me_."

Seeing his son's silent acknowledgement at last reflected on his face, Sandy nodded toward where Summer waited. "But for right now, you can 'be here' best by leaving – let me talk alone with Ryan."

Seth smiled gratefully, before summoning his own game face. Patting Sandy on the shoulder, he mocked lightly "Good luck with that, Yoda. And may the force be with you…"

"One meeting with George Lucas, and he goes all Star Wars…" Summer groaned from behind the wheel, even as she smiled. Her taunting a device. Another distraction. Making this easier for Seth …

Sandy thought again how much he liked this girl. He smiled his silent thanks, and saw her quick shrugged 'no problem', as Seth approached her car.

"So I'm assuming Ryan's in the pool house?"

"Yep. Now _officially_ the Fortress of Solitude," Seth warned as he folded himself into the convertible. Sandy heard him add to Summer "which is _so_ not a Star Wars reference." Saw Summer roll her eyes as she backed away.

>>>>>>

Sandy walked through the house, stopping to pick up two bottles of juice from the refrigerator. He thought about the brief exchange with Ryan this morning. When again, the teen had waited until Seth's departure to venture into the kitchen.

_Ryan hesitating with his coffee. Not fleeing straight away, but standing uncomfortably for a long moment before speaking._

"_Have you heard anything more about Marissa?" Blue eyes cloudy. Body tense._

_Sandy nodding. "Jimmy called. They're staying over, just outside the clinic where they took Marissa. Seems she's doing better than her mother."_

_Ryan clutching the coffee mug so tightly it might break, saying "Julie's really angry." Then staring at the floor before looking up through blond bangs at Sandy. "I don't blame her. After everything that happened…"_

_Sandy setting down his own cup, and moving toward the boy. "Ryan, don't worry about Julie. Leave her to me, okay?"_

_Seeing the skeptical frown as their eyes locked. Watching the eyes drop down noncommittally. _

_Saying gently "Marissa's afraid you won't want to see her when she comes home."_

_Ryan's eyes flying up, surprised. "Why would she think that?" _

_Sandy laying a hand on the teenager's shoulder, as the boy answered his own question. "Trey."_

_Ryan shaking his head in disbelief. Finally saying "She saved my life, Sandy." _

_As if that were all that mattered. _

_Sandy thinking he was right._

Although the teen had exited abruptly, claiming he had assignments due that day, Sandy had been encouraged. Had hoped the Ryan-driven exchange signaled a greater willingness to talk.

He drew in a deep breath, and shook his head. What could have changed since morning?

>>>>>>

Sandy knocked on the door of Ryan's sanctuary and was rewarded with silence. When a second knock produced the same silence, he opened the door and stuck his head in.

The blinds were still pulled most of the way down, shielding the interior of the pool house from the bright afternoon sun. Clothes were scattered about, with sweat pants hanging across the back of one chair, and a wifebeater crumpled in the middle of the floor. Ryan's grey hoodie looked like it had been bundled, and thrown into a corner.

The bedcovers were haphazardly strewn across the bed, covering what in the darkness appeared to be a large lump somewhere near the middle. Pillows were tossed about in no semblance of order, although a couple seemed to cover the top-most section of the lump.

Sandy grimaced. Ryan normally kept the pool house immaculate. Almost antiseptic. This disarray was reminiscent of the Oliver days. Or the post-Lindsay days. A tell-tale sign that Ryan's coping mechanisms were being outpaced by the problems he faced…

He cleared his throat, and whispered "Ryan?"

The lump moved, and snarled before squeezing out a few words that sounded like they came through gritted teeth, "Seth, get lost!"

Sandy stepped into the pool house, and busied himself opening some of the blinds. "Love what you've done with the place."

The lump groaned, and rearranged itself, dragging the pillows tighter against the offending sunlight.

Sandy moved to the bed, and sat down. "Seth's out with Summer. I thought we could use this time to talk."

One pillow moved slightly, revealing a blue eye and some very messy blond hair. "Later?" came a barely audible plea from a still-hidden mouth.

"It _is_ later, Ryan. We can't keep putting this off." The pillow snapped back over the blue eye in response.

Sandy sat patiently for several minutes, hoping his foster son would get the silent message.

Was finally rewarded.

"You're not leaving, are you?" The voice was muffled by the bedcovers.

"Nope. Not in this lifetime." Hoping Ryan _heard_ him.

A groan of resignation seeped out of the bedclothes. The lump stirred, and sat up. Blond hair pointed in all directions as the teenager rubbed the heels of his hands against his squinting eyes. One grey-sweat-pant-covered leg stuck out of the mass of covers.

After a moment, the boy struggled to unwrap himself from the sheets, finally working his way to the edge of the bed. He eyed Sandy guardedly, and pointed in the direction of the bath, "Give me a minute, okay?"

Sandy looked at the teenager appraisingly, and raised his eyebrows. "Take as _long_ as you need."

Ryan frowned. "You mean take a shower, don't you?"

Sandy smiled. "Now that you mention it…"

"Whatever," the boy grumbled, standing up.

"I'll be here."

Sandy saw a flash of something pass across the teen's face, but then the boy bit his lip and turned away, head down.

Ryan tugged at his t-shirt, pulling it carefully up over his head and tossing it on the floor as he walked across the room. He stopped long enough to grab clean clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

Sandy relocated to the nearby chair, allowing it to cradle his back and support his arms. He was worried, on a multitude of levels. But also relieved, as Ryan had been more responsive than he'd feared.

As the shower was running, Sandy mentally listed the topics he wanted to talk through with Ryan. He had just finished his list as the water stopped.

A few minutes later the door opened and the teenager stepped out, drying off his hair. He was wearing navy sweats, with a maroon t-shirt. His feet were bare.

The boy hesitated before finally dropping the wet towel in an empty laundry basket. His quick glance around the room ended in a set of apologetically raised eyebrows. "Not exactly ready for company. Sorry."

Sandy waved a hand dismissively. "Let's not worry about housekeeping right now."

Ryan pulled his mouth taut, and took a deep breath. "So, do we do this here, or inside?" he asked, motioning with his head as he fastened his watch around his wrist.

"Where would you prefer?"

Ryan shrugged. "Here, I guess."

"Juice?" Sandy asked, holding out one of the bottles he had brought from the house.

"Thanks." Ryan twisted the top off and downed half the contents before making a face and looking at the label. "Watermelon Kiwi? You have something against OJ? Or cranberry?"

Sandy took a much smaller sip, before making his own face. He laughed. "Fine. So next time, you pick out the juice."

This seems so normal, Sandy thought, this tiny interlude. God, he missed normal.

Ryan ducked his head, staring at the floor. "Sure, next time," he answered too quietly.

_The interlude was over._

Sandy watched as the teenager sat down on the edge of the bed gingerly, mindful of his bruised body.

The kid's words and actions directed attention squarely to the elephant in the room with them.

They both knew the facts. Ryan's record. His history of fighting. The charges dropped last year in the Trask affair. Facts the police would have at their disposal.

Facts the police didn't have. Like Ryan's tormented statement to Seth, as yet unknown to the authorities – _"I'm going to settle this with Trey … once and for all" _Damning evidence of intent, twisted in the hands of an able prosecutor.

The initial altercation with his brother, only witnessed by the two.

Trey's disregard for truth so easily turned upon his younger sibling.

Statements he might be induced to make – _"He confronted me. Pushed into my apartment. He was talking crazy. Wouldn't listen, wouldn't back down. I feared for my life, that's why I pointed the gun. Asked him to leave. Thought he was going, and lowered it, relieved. That's when he turned. Rushed at me. Assaulted me. Beat me. Kicked me. I was fighting for my life …"_

A story told in deadly half-truths, to save himself from harsher prosecution. Sandy knew the danger. Had heard it from Trey's lips this morning.

"_I haven't told them yet," the young man had stated. "I said my memory was blurry. But, Mr. Cohen, know this – I will remember clearly, if you don't help me."_

Sandy would keep that memory to himself for now …

With or without Trey's duplicity, from the outset Sandy realized assault charges loomed as a potential threat. Alone, perhaps not so dangerous. A plea down to a misdemeanor likely.

But Ryan was on probation. And nearly an adult in the eyes of the California legal system.

And a conviction could mean time inside a prison …

Sandy took a deep breath, and said as calmly as he could, "About that. I'm meeting with the ADA day after tomorrow, to see where she stands on this thing. And then I'm scheduled to call your PO."

"Day after tomorrow?" Surprise evident in the voice.

"The ADA set the time," Sandy explained.

Ryan groaned.

"It's not bad news, Ryan," Sandy soothed. "I know that must sound like a long time away, but it's really not. I'd actually be more worried if she wanted to see me right away."

Ryan looked straight at Sandy for several seconds, his face and body stiffly composed. "What do you think they'll do?"

_I wish I knew, _he thought, amazed that the teenager had maintained eye contact this long. The boy's eyes were a huge key to reading his underlying feelings, and right now they betrayed his fear. As if on cue, Ryan ducked his head again.

Sandy cleared his throat. "This much I know. One of my friends on the police force talked to the investigating officers from the other night."

Ryan wrapped his arms around his waist, as though bracing himself for bad news. He glanced up, waiting for Sandy to continue.

"My friend said his colleagues were ready to believe Marissa Cooper's version of events. That your story and hers matched with respect to the shooting."

"So, that's good, right? For Marissa?"

"I think so, Ryan. But the ADA will make the final call."

The boy looked at him and nodded, as he unwrapped his arms. Noticing a couple of crumpled sheets of paper peeking out from underneath a pillow, the teenager quickly snatched them up, stuffing them into his pocket.

"What have you got there?" Sandy asked, distracted from his train of thought.

Ryan shrugged. "Nothing. Homework." Staring at the floor, keeping his face hidden. Rewrapping his arms around his mid-section.

"Learning through osmosis?"

Another shrug.

Sandy watched the boy intently, while searching quickly for his place in their interrupted conversation. He was surprised when Ryan spoke.

"How's Kirsten? I mean, have they talked to you since yesterday?"

Sandy shook his head. "I spoke with Dr. Woodruff, and he says she's doing well. Hanging in there."

"You'll see her tomorrow?" Ryan seemed anxious, as he peered up through his still-wet fringe.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Sandy confirmed.

"And you'll tell her about everything then?" Ryan asked, seeking reassurance.

Sandy nodded solemnly. He slid forward in his seat, reaching across the distance to put his hand on Ryan's knee. "Trust her to understand, okay?"

Ryan forced his head up, as blue eyes met blue. "She needs to know," he said simply.

"She will." Sandy assured him, sitting back into his chair.

The boy unwrapped his arms and sighed. He grabbed a pillow, and began picking at one corner as he asked softly, "And Trey? Did your friend say anything about him?"

Sandy was surprised at the question. Ryan had steadfastly refused to talk about his brother since the incident. Sandy leaned forward, and spread his hands.

"That's a big part of what I wanted to tell you, Ryan. I've got good news, and bad news. First, according to Manny – and this is _great_ news for all of us if the ADA goes along – is that there doesn't seem to be a lot of impetus at this moment to charge either of you with assault for the initial fight. They have focused on the escalation – the introduction of the gun, and Marissa's actions to stop Trey…"

Sandy stopped, not wanting to say '_from murdering his younger brother_'.

Not wanting to explain Manny's stark assessment that police had little sympathy for an ex-con, with several strikes already against him. With a father in prison. Who had barely escaped a drug charge earlier this year. Who was caught this time with drugs and a gun in his apartment. Who damn near killed his brother.

Their words: _Punk. User. Probably dealer. Nothing but white trash. Who cared if he got the shit beat out of him? Probably deserved it, fucker. To bad the girl didn't blow his ass away._

Not things he wanted Ryan to hear said about his brother. Knowing that Ryan would allow their brush to paint too broadly. Allow it to paint himself.

Knowing these were the same biases and prejudices he had fought against as a PD, when they were used against his former clients. Attitudes he hated.

But now. Those very biases could pave a way to freedom. Save Ryan from legal prosecution, if handled correctly. And if Trey could be contained…

Sandy felt a little dirty, not for the first time, as he fought for his family.

_Decided he could live with that_.

_Far easier than he could ever live without them… _

Sandy's attention was refocused as Ryan prompted, "And the bad news?"

"I'm afraid Trey's in a lot of trouble this time. He's going to be charged with parole violation for possession of the handgun. They're pretty adamant that there's no way around that. And then there's the matter of the drugs they found in his stuff. Particularly after the whole drug thing at Marissa's party. I'll be honest, Ryan. It's not looking good for your brother."

Ryan's eyes went dark, as he threw the pillow aside, shoved his feet into sandals, and stood up. He walked to the door, and stared outside, his back to Sandy. "I don't have a brother," he said flatly. "Not anymore."

Sandy cringed inside, wondering how much of this was his own fault for forcing things with Trey in the first place, and then compounding the situation by not paying nearly enough attention.

Knowing the answer to his question -- pretty much all of it.

He rose, and moved to stand behind Ryan. He placed an arm on the boy's back, as he said "I'm sorry, Ryan. If I hadn't insisted that we bring Trey home..."

"He would have just figured out some other way to ruin things," Ryan cut him off, clearly not interested in hearing Sandy out on this subject.

Before Sandy could respond, Ryan twisted away, and grabbed the door handle, looking back at Sandy. "I'd like to walk down to the beach, clear my head. Please? If we're done?"

"I could come with you," Sandy offered, knowing they were far from done.

Ryan stiffened, and drew in a loud breath, as his free hand wrapped itself around the crumpled pages he carried inside his pocket.

"Or not…" Sandy said slowly, deciding he might win more trust through trusting.

The teenager relaxed, and let his breath out slowly. "Thanks," he said softly, before moving with surprising speed out the door and towards the pathway that led down to the Pacific.

"Be back for dinner," Sandy called. Ryan did not turn around, but raised his hand in a brief acknowledgement before disappearing from view.

>>>>>>

Sandy walked back into the empty kitchen. Where once again Kirsten's absence almost overpowered him. Forced him to retreat further back, into his office.

Sitting down at his desk, he skimmed through his email.

And saw his note from Kirsten.

He read it slowly, savoring each word. Wanting to hear her speak them. Wanting to reach through the electronic screen, and be connected to his wife.

He printed a copy of the email, just to hold it in his hands. To have something tangible of Kirsten.

After reading and re-reading the pages at least a dozen times, he folded the letter carefully and slid it into his pocket.

Stopped suddenly, remembering. Realizing what Ryan had clutched so tightly…

>>>>>>

_tbc_

a/n3: next chapter will take a little time …


	4. Chapter 4

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who reviews, or simply drops a line to let me know they're reading – it means so much! I appreciate your thoughts and comments….

**Time: Later Afternoon / Evening of Day Three. **

_>>>>>>_

_Focus, Ryan, focus…_ he told himself, as he skidded on loose stones in the pathway. He slowed down his pace, to give his brain time to catch up to his body.

Although some piece of him still wanted to let his mind float… to return to the _nothingness_ he had so recently enjoyed. Where he didn't have to think about the past, or the future. About where he might be headed, or who he'd leave behind…

He shook his head, disgusted with his weakness. _Face your fears, Ryan. Stand and take your punishment_… he chided himself, trying to ignore the smaller voice that still wanted to run and hide.

As he descended more watchfully toward the Pacific, he sifted through fragmented memories of his afternoon.

>>>>>>>>

_Sending completed homework via email, like he'd promised. _

_Seeing the letter from Kirsten. Reading words intended for another Ryan. The one he had pretended to be, but wasn't. _

_Losing grip as he was reading. Crawling under covers, shutting out the light. Reaching to embrace an emptiness, where he could simply disappear. _

_Drifting silently into the void, as the words that were not meant for him finally blurred and faded until their loss no longer hurt. _

_Seth discovering him there. His well-meant but clueless rambling – so utterly ignorable. Drifting further, Seth's voice vanishing … vanishing … gone. _

_Floating alone. At peace._

_Until…_

_The voice returning. Whispering his name again, somehow far stronger. Strong enough to suspend his drifting. To bring him back toward the darkness and the light. _

_Forcing out words, to rid himself of the unwanted intrusion … "Get lost, Seth." _

_The voice moving closer, speaking words that made no sense, but still pulling at him, dragging him irresistibly towards itself, as though by a magnet. Slowly becoming aware once more of self and surroundings. _

_Finally comprehending.. _

_The voice drawing him back from the void belonged not to Seth, but Sandy. _

_Recognition dawning… His bed. The pool house. The Cohens. Marissa._

_Trey. _

_Stopping there, gripping his pillows tight against the light that was pouring through. Against the memories. Against his fears. _

_Knowing somewhere deep inside the futility, as the unwanted torments rode in with the light. Shoving. Pressing. Pounding. Until he relented, faced them, and took them back as his. _

_Then facing Sandy, the shower helping… _

_Calling on everything inside him. Managing somehow to respond coherently to the man to whom he owed so much. Who had saved him from the streets. _

_Who had just saved him from himself… _

_Struggling to keep it together. Almost forgetting … things. The letter…_

_Listening. Asking questions, until he couldn't handle anymore. _

_Until he had to leave. To breathe. To think …_

_>>>>>>>_

_Pull it together, man. _He didn't care that he was mouthing the words, or that the kid tramping back up the path with the surfboard was staring.

_You got too freaking' close to the edge! _He could feel his heart beating too fast, and took several deep breaths to slow it down. Slowly, painfully, he felt the last strands of lingering nothingness dissolving, and slipping away, as he shook himself free from its grasp.

For better or worse, he was back, determined not to let himself drift away like that again.

He'd watched his whole life as people hid themselves away, stupefied by drugs and alcohol, trying to escape their pain. Their loss. Their life.

He hated it. He'd read about their illness – okay, he got that. But at some level, he still thought it was weak and self-centered and wrong. When you stopped trying to change. When you stopped caring who got hurt...

And even though he couldn't bring himself to hate the people he saw hiding, he despised the devastation they caused. The splintered hearts and battered bodies strewn carelessly about, broken in the places he'd called home.

He had promised himself a long time ago that hiding away would not be _his_ way of dealing with the world. No, he'd promised himself he'd stand strong, and bear his burdens. Act, and accept the consequences of those actions.

_And he had failed. Again. _

For he'd just sought escape from all his problems, just like his father. Just like his mother. Just like Trey.

No, Ryan amended quickly. Not like Trey. Yeah, Trey had his problems, but he'd lived with the same parents Ryan had. Had seen them drunk, and stoned, and out of control. He _knew_.

And yet Trey chose to follow suit, no matter who he hurt in the process. Because he was all about the thrill and the moment. His needs and his desires. His pride and his anger.

He didn't hesitate to use people to get what he wanted. Or to sacrifice anyone or anything that stood in his way.

Ryan's hands clenched into fists. He'd never understand the choices that Trey made. Didn't want to try anymore. Right now, he'd settle for understanding some of his own.

Like why he ever thought confronting Trey was worth the sacrifices he now faced. He could lose so much that really mattered. His freedom. His new family. His new life.

And far, far worse, through his reckless actions he'd created problems for everyone he cared about. When they already had too many of their own.

And that? The reckless behavior? The disregard for others? That _was_ just like Trey. _Fuck_.

He cringed, as his stomach tightened. Drawing in a deep breath, he pushed those thoughts aside for later. He needed time… What had he been thinking of, when he had zeroed in on Trey? Oh, yeah – people who hid from their problems.

Another name came rushing forward, but he refused to add _her _to his list… She was getting help, not giving in.

It didn't matter, really. This weakness was _his_, and his alone. For he'd been the one to search for his own oblivion.

Only he'd found a different pathway – no drugs or alcohol involved. _Didn't need them._

_Because he was fucking crazy… _Ryan snorted, as the self-assessment threatened to unnerve him. Anyway,crazy or not, he needed to focus on how to make things better for the people his actions had effected.

_Deal with it, Atwood._ He ran his hands through his hair until they met at the back of his neck. He stood for a moment with hands locked, as he stared toward the Pacific, letting its constant rhythm of sound and motion sooth his frayed nerves.

Finally he unlocked his hands, rolling his head and shoulders to relieve some of their stiffness. More settled, he finished his decent.

>>>>>>>

Kicking off his sandals once he reached the beach, Ryan quickly stashed them out of sight. He could hear the echo of Seth's laughter at his actions … telling him not to worry if they were stolen, they'd just get another pair.

He walked on toward the water, squinting his eyes as the sun dipped lower, his train of thought continuing. Seth would never get it. Ryan supposed that was okay – he didn't have to. But Ryan did.

Because the shoes? Like almost every possession he 'owned', a gift. Another thing he didn't earn. And another thing he needed to take care of …

His thoughts were interrupted as the cool salt water splashed across his feet. He sucked in his breath, as nerve endings communicated their chilled surprise. He stood still, letting the waves ebb and flow across his toes, growing accustomed to the nip of the Pacific.

Long moments later, he turned, and waded up the beach. Some of the bigger waves smacked against his ankles, and soaked his sweats almost to his knees. It felt good. _Alive_. And maybe that was _something_…

>>>>>>>

As he walked, he watched in the distance as a girl threw a stick for a golden retriever, who plunged with obvious delight into the water to fetch it, and bring it back. Noticed how the drenched, sand-caked dog moved its body, dancing and begging for the game to continue.

And thought again of Seth.

Wondered, not for the first time, if Seth wouldn't really be better off with a dog. It'd be more company than a plastic horse, and not nearly as much trouble as … _a Ryan_.

It probably wouldn't mind if he woke it up in the middle of the night to talk about his latest bazaar scheme, or to analyze his most recent episode with Summer. And since Seth did pretty much all the talking anyway, and precious little listening, he probably wouldn't notice that it only barked.

It wouldn't get irritated when he rambled on and on, and it would happily follow him anywhere he wanted to go. It would be trusting, and love easily, and never be afraid.

And if it grew up with them – the Cohens – it wouldn't learn to bite.

He kicked at the water, sending it spraying in front of him, as he traveled one step further down this mental road. Until he saw his life distilled through other eyes.

Trey's bitch. And Seth's … what? Pound pet?

And yet they both called him '_brother'_.

He felt something undefined smoldering inside him. Then sparking … igniting … fighting for release. He moved faster. Faster.

Until he was running, water spraying, arms pumping. Ignoring the protests from his ribs and cuts and bruises as long as he could. Until spent, hurting, he slowed and finally stopped.

Bent doubled, arms grasping his sides as his breath came in short gasps. Stayed doubled over, until his breathing gradually became deeper, and his heart resumed a normal beat. Until at last, he straightened, wincing.

_Running like that?_ He laughed at himself, bemused by his own folly. _Not so smart, asshole …_

He soon realized his body was considerably less forgiving, as he felt the sharp shafts of pain it sent to punish its abuser.

Fine. Nothing wrong with sitting.

>>>>>>>

He picked his way back from the water, past where the sea grass staked its claim upon the shore, until he found a deserted nook against a sand-dune. He eased his aching body down, and pressed his back against the dune. He worked his feet deep into the sand, until they found the dampness.

He closed his eyes, listening to the waves rumbling in the distance. Rolling in. Breaking as they reached the shore. Sucking out, as the sea reclaimed its own. He could feel his breath deepen, to match the constant rhythm. Feel his aches receding. And his thoughts come pressing forward.

Like how he had been unfair to Seth before. Seth, who had accepted him without reservation from the first day they met. Who might be selfish in some ways, but who willingly shared his possessions, his family, and his secrets. Without resentment. Without jealously. With complete trust.

Except… Ryan opened his eyes, and smiled a little to himself as he pulled the head off a stalk of sea oats and scattered the grains in the breeze. Remembering the one thing Seth did _not_ share. Recalling how Seth had made it clear from their first night out together that _she_ was where he drew his line.

He hadn't understood Seth's fixation on Summer at first, as the girl had seemed shallow, and vain, and mean. But over time, he saw what Seth had always seen – the soft heart, and fiery soul hidden beneath her chosen mask.

And he could relate to wearing masks…

He pulled up short, tearing off another stalk of sea oats, and using the stem to draw meaningless patterns in the loose sand as he turned his attention back to the boy he called '_friend'_.

Nothing in his life had ever really prepared him for someone like Seth. Someone who believed in him – although sometimes too much. Someone who fought to keep him in their home, even when his mother didn't want him there. Someone who said 'brother', and actually meant something by that word.

Someone who looked to him for advice and counsel, as though he had any answers. Luckily for them both, a lot of the questions had been pretty basic stuff, if you'd had to fend for yourself most of your life.

Bottom line was this: underneath all the rambling and quirks, separated from his self-obsession, Seth had the one thing that mattered. A good heart.

And so what if Seth might not always have your back when he should? It wasn't because he didn't want to – more like he didn't know how. Or didn't realize he needed to. Not because he thought watching you suffer or fail was entertaining, or because he thought you needed to be taught a lesson in humility.

And Seth didn't feel threatened when you studied, or cared about your classes. Yeah, he might tease, but it was hard to take his barbs seriously, coming as they did from another AP student. And he didn't rip up your homework, or throw your books into the garbage dumpster. Or lock you inside an old U-haul trailer _cum_ clubhouse, so you missed three exams in one day. Or smirk and ask _'Who's so smart, now?'_ when the flavor of the month beat the shit out of you for coming home with F's on your report card, while your mom stood back and sobbed.

Ryan flinched as his memories grew too focused. He sought balance … Trey had his moments. Especially when they were little, united against the terror that was Dad. He eased into his favorite thoughts of Trey. Trey reading stories to him at night, drowning out the sound of thunder … or their mother's crying. Teaching him to toss a baseball. Defending him from the bigger kids, sometimes. They'd been close, back then.

Until Ryan's intellect had driven a wedge between them. He'd hated being called 'the smart one', knowing Trey resented it. He'd learned early how pride can build high walls. Like when he'd corrected a word one night when Trey was reading to him. A word he only knew because he'd sounded it out like Trey had taught him. But that had been a mistake, because Trey had closed the book, and had never read to him again.

They'd grown more distant as Ryan sought to please the ones around him, earning him another moniker that he had hated – 'the good one'. Trey's choices had become erratic, veering further into darkness. His protectiveness turned to taunting, as his resentment deepened. Until the only times they seemed to get along were when Trey taught him things that could cause him trouble. Like smoking, and swearing, and drinking. Or what the back seat in a car was for…

Ryan drew in a breath, remembering how he'd trailed Trey, seeking his approval. How he'd so often followed his brother's instructions, even when he'd thought them wrong, hoping to earn the approval he had wanted so very badly. How he'd snapped into line, doing his brother's bidding time after time. Never rewarded with the approval he sought. Often left facing awful consequences for his actions, while Trey disappeared.

Of course, Trey would always find him later, with some lame explanation of why he'd left Ryan to fend for himself. With an apology Ryan wanted to believe. With promises that next time, things would be different. But they never were, and they never would be.

Ryan rammed his fists into his eyes, determined he would not cry. How could he cry, over the brother he'd disowned? He dropped his hands, rubbing them on his t-shirt, as his mind turned again to Seth.

Who'd failed him, too, on occasion. Like with Oliver… But it was so different than with Trey. Because when Seth failed you, his sorrow was _real_. And his promises to change were sincerely given, and rarely broken. At least not the important ones.

Ryan smiled a little. He'd never hold Seth to any promise involving silence, or being less ego-centric. Or less focused on Summer. He just wanted a little sincerity, not a freaking miracle …

Ryan drew in his breath and blinked his eyes, as he thought how much his friendship with Seth mattered. How much he stood to lose…

Ryan swallowed, and clenched his jaw, considering how he had treated Seth these last two days. Knowing he'd probably hurt his friend through his silence.

Shit, he'd probably scared the hell out of Seth today, if he'd had any sense of how far Ryan had tripped out. And the weird thing was, despite their vast differences, sometimes Seth really seemed to understand him.

He sorted through excuses for closing Seth out, rejecting them all as unacceptable. Even his need to establish some distance, to make it easier if he had to leave, was flawed. He had no right to hurt Seth, just to help himself.

He threw his head back against the sand dune, disgusted with his selfishness. And yet, something else still pricked and stung, forcing him to delve deeper.

Until he arrived where darkness lurked, less contained than in the past. And much more treacherous…

Ryan closed his eyes and drew his lips together, recognizing a fear he had not known before his pain and rage-filled fight with Trey. Before he realized how quickly and completely he could lose control of the hurt and fear and anger and frustration that made up his inner demons.

Because, despite every good thing about his friend, the fact remained that Seth could really get to him sometimes, with his ceaseless needs and wants and demands. His amazing ability to somehow make everything about himself.

What if it finally became too much one day, and he lost control again? With Seth his target?

Eyes still shut, he wrapped his arms around his body, whispering as though to convince himself, "It's not the same. I would _never_ hurt Seth."

He repeated the words over and over until he almost believed them. And for the moment, 'almost' was as good as he could manage…

>>>>>>>

Ryan opened his eyes, and concentrated his attention on the far horizon. The breeze off the Pacific was picking up, blowing the sea oats around him gently. He unwrapped his arms, and scooped up handfuls of sand, letting it run through his fingers, and spill into the breeze.

Sand. _Sandy_.

Ryan's thoughts turned to the man who waited for him back at the house. He remembered listening as Seth had rambled on about his graphic novel, and its assorted super-heros, thinking none of them held a candle to the flesh and blood Sanford Cohen. He knew if he were ever a father, he'd want to be like Sandy. He was sure that a kid couldn't ask for better than that...

He bit his lip, drawing blood, as he thought of how he'd let Sandy down at a time when the guy had a lot more important things on his plate. Like how to help Kirsten get better. How to help Seth deal with his mom's illness.

And now, thanks to him, Sandy had to divert attention he should be spending on Kirsten and Seth to his wretched issues. Spending time at the hospital, dealing with his incessant brooding, working through all the legal crap, checking on Marissa, interceding with Dr. Kim, and on and on… Even looking for Dawn, who refused to be found. Exactly the type of stuff that Sandy did not need.

And through it all, Ryan reflected unhappily, he hadn't pulled his weight to help his guardian. Yeah, he'd answered Sandy's questions as well as he could. But beyond that, he'd basically withdrawn, leaving everything in Sandy's lap.

He couldn't even give himself much credit for telling the truth, after all his lies this year. All his pretending to be someone he wasn't.

Besides, since Marissa had refused to leave and let him take responsibility for firing the gun, like he'd tried to convince her to do, and since Seth had already told his dad about the whole thing with Trey and Marissa, there hadn't been any reason to lie. There was no one left he needed to protect.

Ryan drew one side of his mouth into a frown, as he considered how he was usually caught when he tried to lie. He couldn't help wondering how he had actually fooled them all this time. Probably only because they all had more important things going on, so that they hadn't looked too closely.

_I didn't want them to see the truth_, he told himself firmly, when the small voice inside seemed troubled by their oversight. _It doesn't bother me…_

However, he was willing to admit there was one thing that _did_ bother him. That, bizarrely enough, made him uneasy… The fact that Sandy hadn't disciplined him yet.

Not one word at the hospital, on the way home, or at the house. And yeah, he had asked Sandy to hold off that first morning after the shooting, but it wasn't like Sandy to let the really awful stuff go without the transgressor being grounded, or having privileges restricted, or being assigned extra chores… or all of the above.

And worst of all – the thing Ryan dreaded most – receiving one of Sandy's dress-downs, knowing that he had earned each measured word. Listening, while Sandy expressed his disappointment in no uncertain terms.

He dropped his head in disgrace, as he imagined the things Sandy might say. He clenched his jaws as he considered yet again how a verbal lashing could be more painful than getting his ass kicked, when the words were delivered by someone he respected. Whose opinion of him _mattered_.

But so far, Sandy had said nothing. Not one hard word.

His guardian had simply let him know what he had learned about Trey, about Marissa, about the legal consequences… Had kept Ryan informed about who he talked to, what was said, what came next… Had worried about what he ate, whether he slept, if he showered. Maybe more than anything, Sandy had stayed present and connected.

God, Ryan hoped he shouldn't read too much into the omission. Like maybe Sandy knew he'd soon be facing a punishment that was a helluva lot worse than anything Sandy might hand out. Or maybe Sandy thought he'd only be wasting his time with any discipline, since it was pretty clear from this latest episode that Ryan was a lost cause.

Albeit a lost cause the Cohens were still legally responsible for.

But he'd be eighteen in only a couple of months. And then the Cohens wouldn't be on the hook for him anymore. If by some miracle – _named Sandy_ – they got through this thing without his serving time somewhere, then there'd at least be options open.

Unless… but how could he expect them to keep someone around who was so fucking screwed up? After the real Ryan Atwood had been exposed?

The Ryan who came complete with all the stuff that he'd tried so hard to hide. Ignore. Forget.

All the twisted memories and fears and hurts and anger… That seemed to churn inside him – demanding his attention – refusing to be suppressed.

He couldn't pretend everything was okay any longer, because it _really_ wasn't. And once they understood that, wouldn't having him leave be the wisest course?

Because, who needed a damaged teenager in their home? Together with the burdens that would accompany someone so fucked up? And why would they _want_ someone like him around, anyway, on top of their own issues? And how could they ever trust him again?

Ryan let his head drop to his knees, and wound his arms around his shins, as he contemplated a future without the family he'd slowly grown to love. That he'd wanted to belong to, but had never deserved.

He'd need to make some decisions about what he'd do after his birthday, if he still had options by then – if he wasn't serving time… Whatever happened, he didn't want the Cohens to think they _needed_ to be responsible for him once he was eighteen. They shouldn't feel guilty if they wanted him to leave. And he didn't want to stay there, allowed to remain out of pity.

He lifted his head, and stared out at the horizon. Wishing that the Cohens could look at the real Ryan, and see something still worth having – someone maybe worth loving…

But if he couldn't see that, how could they?

>>>>>>>

He unfolded himself, and stood up gingerly, as his bruised body objected to the movement. He stretched himself, working out his stiffness, before heading back toward the ocean.

His hand closed around the pages he still carried in his pocket, drawing them out as he walked. Allowing his thoughts to turn at last to Kirsten. Who was harder to read than anyone in the Cohen household, because – like him -- she kept her secrets.

She'd intimidated him from day one, he recalled, smiling a little self-consciously at the memory. When she'd seen him as some felon Sandy brought uninvited into her home. When she'd first made it clear how fiercely she'd protect her family against all threats, including stray delinquents.

It was then he'd first decided that he liked her, wishing longingly that his own mom were as protective.

He had been astonished the day she'd rescued him from juvie. And practically dumbfounded that awful morning he watched his mother walk away, when Kirsten had been adamant that he would stay with them. Somehow, in the midst of his pain and humiliation, she'd made it seem like things had worked out for the best. Not just for him, or Seth, or Sandy, but for _her_ as well.

She'd won his enduring gratitude that day.

Followed swiftly by his respect and admiration. Kirsten, the anti-Dawn. Educated, successful, socially astute… A virtual super-woman. He had cautiously observed a cool, efficient, and self-reliant Kirsten maintain her distance from most people as she smoothly steered a course for her business and her family. He had been content maintaining distance. It was usually safer when you didn't get too close.

But then he'd come to know her softer side. The Kirsten who adored her son, who was still hopelessly in love with her husband, and who was amazingly forbearing with the likes of Caleb and Hailey Nichol. Who was also kind and patient with the likes of Ryan Atwood. Slowly their distance lessened, as he found her more and more approachable.

She had become human when he saw her limitations. Like her utter helplessness when it came to cooking, each foray ending in disaster, and her much bemoaned 'lack of funny' in a household that worshipped humor. Or her inability to catch Seth in his scamming, or her tendency to cry when she watched practically any kind of movie…

He'd soon found places – like the kitchen – where he could help her out. There were times he simply stood beside her, the two more quiet souls aligned against the Cohen madness. Even when he sided with the Cohen men, he'd been careful with her feelings, remembering too well how it felt to stand alone. She'd rewarded his efforts with a smile, a touch, a gesture – intended just for him.

Despite all his plans to keep his distance, he couldn't help himself – that's when he'd lost his heart.

His stomach tightened, as his thoughts circled back to the present, to the letter he still clutched in his hand, and to the very different limitations Kirsten faced today. He should have seen it sooner. The signs had all been there, but he'd told himself he had to be mistaken. She was too strong, too smart, too good.

But he was wrong. The 'too' she was – was human.

Ryan opened the pages carefully, as the breeze from the Pacific tugged at their edges. He blinked his eyes, as he made himself read her words again.

He wished with all his heart she never had to know the truth about him. That he was not the person she thought she knew at all, but rather the dark culmination of all the forces and behaviors he'd grown up with.

Maybe his true core had been tempered with all he had learned these last two years – _God, he hoped so_. And maybe this year that core had been subverted while he'd tried to be the kid they wanted him to be. But in the end, it still lurked there. Biding time. Waiting for the next trigger. The next Trey. Waiting to be unleashed.

He slowly tore the letter into pieces, as he waded into the surf once more. He blinked, but did not wipe away the tears that fell as he let the fragments slip through his fingers. As he watched Kirsten's words, written to another Ryan, disappear into the sea… _She_ was worth crying for.

He stood there, until the silent tears stopped running down his face. Wiping his cheeks with the bottom of his t-shirt, he smiled wanly. Because his gesture was symbolic, really. He didn't need to keep the pages – he knew each word by heart.

>>>>>>>

He turned for home, knowing Sandy would be waiting. Determined to make more of an effort to help himself, rather than let his guardian bear the burden alone. Determined to be a better friend to the best friend he'd ever known. While there was time. While he still could.

This time he walked, having learned the hard way not to run. He drank in the scenery, in case he'd have to leave it. Saw the sun falling closer toward the Pacific, as the shadows grew. Smelled the sea air, heard the surf pound, and felt the breeze ruffling through his hair.

In the distance, he saw an outcrop of rock he'd detoured around before. He stared ahead, mesmerized, as the Pacific slapped against the rock face, and sprayed fountains in the air. Pulsing … pulsing … pounding … relentlessly attacking.

Ryan watched as the rocks grew closer, becoming somehow uncomfortable. And yet, transfixed. Feeling as though he looked into a mirror, and saw inside himself.

Why did he ever think he could be something else, anyway?

All year, he'd smoothed over so much crap that he'd looked like a damned infinity pool, he thought, grappling with an analogy.

Smooth. Contained. Accommodating.

When the truth was … he stared at the crashing waves … the truth was _that_.

He stood watching for several minutes, until finally tearing himself away, and pressing forward.

_Get a grip, already_, he told himself. _Sandy's waiting, and he doesn't need your fucking angst. Lighten way the hell up, Atwood. _

>>>>>>>

Walking through the kitchen door, he saw a number of take-out containers sitting untouched on the counter. It smelled like Thai, he thought, surprised to realize that he was hungry.

"You're back," came a disconnected voice, followed straight away by an anxious looking Sandy.

Ryan tried on an apologetic smile. "Sorry – I lost track of time."

Sandy shook his head and waved one hand dismissively, as he pulled open the refrigerator, rummaging inside for something to drink.

"And thanks for letting me go," Ryan said.

Sandy stopped his search, and turned his head toward Ryan. "I'm never letting you go, kid. Leave for a little while, like today, yeah – _if_ I know you're coming right back."

Ryan stared, not sure what to say. He'd heard similar words last summer, before he'd left for Chino._ Before they let you go, _the small voice nagged uncharitably. Ryan shoved it aside, noting only that the 'leaving' part had been less restrictive then.

"So, thanks for letting me leave?" he amended, relieved to see his foster-father smile and nod.

"Feeling better?" Sandy asked, turning back to the refrigerator.

"Feeling hungry," Ryan hedged.

Pulling out two bottles of iced tea, Sandy motioned toward the table. "Then bring the trays – it's just us tonight."

"Seth's still with Summer?" Ryan asked, vaguely disappointed that his friend was not at home. He caught Sandy's quick glance in his direction, and the uplifted eyebrow, as he placed the trays on the table and took a seat opposite his foster-father.

"As in still together, generally? Or still with her tonight?" Sandy asked, a smile playing on his lips.

Ryan unwrapped a set of wooden chopsticks, breaking them apart as he twisted his mouth into a grimace. "Don't tell me they're fighting again."

Sandy chuckled, as he leaned toward Ryan. "Come on, kid. Think who you're talking about. When are they not?"

Ryan shook his head, smiling. "Right." He turned his head a little to the side, and narrowed his eyes, as he asked, "But you know the signs, right? When you need to worry?"

Sandy grabbed one of the trays and lifted the lid, before shoving it over to Ryan. "You mean the marathon late-night movies, or the depressing music pouring out of his room?"

"Or the not showering," Ryan finished, wrinkling his nose as he thought of Seth's last foray into depression. Quickly added "_For days_…", as he remembered himself that afternoon.

He glanced at Sandy, who merely nodded, "Eau-de-misery. Got that one down, kid."

Eager to move on to something else, Ryan snatched the tray that Sandy had passed to him. He stuck a finger into one of the compartments, swirling it in the mixture before bringing it to his mouth and sucking off the peanut sauce. He lifted his eyebrows and licked his lips in approval, as he looked up at Sandy, "So, since Seth is out, we get his food, too?"

Sandy grinned conspiratorially, "Pad Thai waits for no man."

With a quick upward flick of blond eyebrows, Ryan answered, "That's what I'm thinking…"

The conversation stayed light throughout the meal, as Ryan picked his way through parts of three platters. Sandy seemed pleased to see him eating, Ryan noticed, still surprised when he found his food intake under scrutiny. He knew they worried, but that was crazy. _Worried_ was for when you didn't know when you might get your next meal – not for whether you'd have seconds of something, when the first serving had been way more than you'd ever had before. He couldn't explain that to them, though, because it just sounded too pathetic.

When they threw in their chopsticks, both satiated, Ryan automatically gathered up the trays and tossed them into the trash. Glancing back across the room, he found Sandy standing, staring at him intently. Looking very serious.

Disconcerted, he dropped his eyes to the floor, wondering if the time had come when Sandy would finally ream him out. Suddenly wondering why he'd ever worried that it hadn't happened. Thinking if it _never_ happened, it'd be okay by him…

"Did you get an email from Kirsten today?"

Ryan's eyes flew of their own volition to Sandy's face, as he wondered suddenly if she'd bcc'd him. He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sandy's tone was gentle, his eyes questioning, but not prying as he closed some of the distance between them.

Ryan swallowed, and looked back at the floor. He kept his eyes fixed on his feet as he answered, "Not really." He glanced up through his bangs to see Sandy tilt his head and furrow his brows, as though trying to see inside him. His guardian now stood less than an arm's length away, his presence overpowering.

As the silence expanded between them, Ryan felt compelled to give his foster-father something more. He looked up, and met Sandy's eyes for a brief instant, before focusing on the door behind him.

He blinked nervously as he stammered, "I mean, what she said shouldn't really count. Not before she knows. I … I'd never hold her …," he stopped, gathering himself together. Finally meeting Sandy's eyes, and holding the connection. "Just tell her I'll answer as soon as she's allowed to get mail."

He ducked his head back down for just an instant, while he swallowed hard again, before looking back up at his foster-father. "And tell her that I'm really sorry."

Sandy put a hand on Ryan's shoulder, squeezing carefully. Ryan tried hard not to flinch under his foster-father's touch, as he closed his eyes tightly. Willed himself to hold it together. He opened his eyes once more when he felt Sandy's other hand cupping his neck. Found Sandy's eyes boring into his as the man said softly, "I'll tell her, I promise."

Ryan's eyes fell to the floor, until he felt Sandy's grip tighten slightly. Peering up through his bangs, he tried to figure out what Sandy wanted him to say. Sandy didn't give him time, though, as his guardian spoke again more firmly, "But I'm telling _you_ this, Ryan – trust her to have faith in you…"

Ryan could only shake his head and mumble a shaky "I will…"

He stood frozen in Sandy's grasp, as the senior Cohen searched his face carefully. Saw the small frown pass across his guardian's face, before the man schooled it into a neutral expression and released his hold.

Ryan was grateful when his guardian allowed him to make his excuses and escape to the pool house.

>>>>>>>

Once inside his sanctuary Ryan leaned heavily against the door, knowing Sandy had not been fooled. Reminded once again that he really sucked at lying.

_If anyone is paying attention_… whispered the small voice.

Ryan quickly flipped on his CD player, volume way up, before flopping spread-eagle across his bed. Intently focusing on the music until the small voice died away.

>>>>>>>

_tbc A/N2 -- many thanks for your patience..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: I'm not sure if I'm violating canon here – I can't remember if we have ever learned the story behind Ryan's fear of heights. If this is contra, my bad…

**Time: Morning of Day Four**

>>>>>>>

Sandy watched, surprised, as Ryan opened the kitchen door. Then glanced at Seth, in time to see his son's face break into a wide smile.

"Ryan! Good to see you, man," Seth gushed as he gestured to the empty stool beside him.

Sandy eyed Ryan, who had frozen, lost somewhere between entry and retreat. He offered some benign encouragement to the uncertain teen, "Coffee's hot, and the cream cheese is room temperature – perfect for shmearing on a nice fresh bagel …"

Sandy waved the large bag he'd just brought in from Bagel Me, and was pleased to be rewarded with a quirky little half-smile from his foster-son.

"Sounds good," the teen allowed, blue eyes flicking quickly between the two Cohens before he ventured on inside and crossed to the coffee maker.

Sandy tried to catch Seth's attention, to silently remind him of the conversation they'd had last night. When Seth had promised to be mindful of Ryan's feelings. But Seth's focus was glued to Ryan, as the blond teenager poured a mug of coffee and turned to face his friend.

"Missed much at school?" Ryan asked carefully. Sandy hoped Seth caught his cautious tone, and would follow the neutral path just offered.

Seth made a face. "Not really. Although we had this student teacher in PE who actually thought climbing a rope to the top of the gymnasium was somethin' I'd wanna do."

Sandy was both relieved and worried – safe topic for Ryan, but maybe tough for Seth. He hoped his son had not been humiliated yet again in phys ed...

Ryan grinned wryly, "Yeah, one of my old PE teachers thought the same thing back in Chino."

Sandy snorted softly, while Seth's eyes widened.

"So what'd you do? I mean, how did you get out of it? Because, the top of the gym is in a different stratosphere, man. I'm talking serious climate differences…"

The blond head tilted, as eyelids lowered to a half-closed position. The boy answered lazily, "I didn't say I got out of it."

Sandy leaned back against the counter, watching as Ryan climbed up on the bar stool beside a puzzled Seth.

"But dude, you're afraid of heights…"

"Yeah. Ever wonder why?" The voice was tinged with just a trace of humor.

Sandy saw the blond eyebrows arch ever so slightly, as Ryan waited for Seth to draw his own conclusions.

After a moment of studied concentration, Seth leaned back in his seat, and turned to face Ryan. "Oh. My. God." His face broke into a dimpled smile, as he continued, "Ryan Atwood, athlete extraordinaire, fell off the rope!"

Having drawn the same conclusion, Sandy searched his foster-son's face for confirmation. Ryan merely shrugged, and looked a little sheepish.

"Embarrassed, much?" Seth mocked cheerfully, his own failure apparently forgotten. "Who woulda' ever thought? No, wait. Let's set the scene… Aging gym, frayed rope, dim lights… I can see it, Ryan, I really can."

Ryan idly scratched his cheek, as he rolled his eyes at Seth.

Seth pressed, "Was there screaming involved? Or cursing? My money's on cursing, being Chino and everything…"

Ryan turned his head a fraction, fixing Seth with a scowl.

Sandy watched warily, as his son continued, "So, how exactly did you fall off? I mean, style-wise… Was it like a half-gainer, or a back flip, or just a plain ol' flop on your ass kinda' plummet?"

"Seth!" Sandy finally reprimanded, thinking his son was enjoying this far too much. "A little respect for Ryan, please!"

The lanky teenager looked at his father, as Sandy glared his disapproval. Seth's face slowly registered the admonishment, and the boy turned to Ryan apologetically. "Sorry, man. It's just… well, I mean, when you're like me – which you aren't… _at all_ – athletic-wise, I mean, somethin' like this makes me feel a little less pathetic, you know?" He searched Ryan's now impassive face, and then scrunched his own, as he finished, "I'm… I'm an idiot. A _very sorry_ idiot."

"It's okay, man, Ryan responded evenly, looking at Seth as though appraising him.

Seth sighed in relief, before wheedling, "Then, like, can you give me just a _couple_ of details?"

"Seth!" Sandy took a step towards his son, but Ryan held up a hand, as though asking him to stay out of it. Sandy leaned back against the counter, watching.

Ryan took a long sip from his coffee, and set it on the counter. He shrugged again and pursed his lips, "Honestly, Seth, I don't remember many details. The thing I _do_ remember is that I never had to climb the rope again." The teenager's face slowly relaxed into a mischievous grin, as he rounded his body deliberately toward Seth, blue eyes glinting, "But now _I'm_ curious. How about you? How'd you get out of it?"

"Who says I did?" Seth tried to achieve Ryan's earlier nonchalance, but failed.

Sandy chuckled, as the look Ryan sent his son was unmistakable.

Seth dropped his head, confessing, "Okay. I told the guy I knew a really good lawyer, who was looking for somebody to sue …"

Ryan nodded, grinning slightly. "That's what I figured…"

The curly head came back up, as he launched into animated explication. "He kinda' decided it would be better if I was the official rope holder. But dude, that's so not a good job. All those gross feet floundering around, right in your face, man, trying to get a grip. There ought to be a law requiring foot deodorant, you know? And holding a rope while other people are climbing on it is not as easy as it looks, either. I think I might have gotten some serious rope burn…" He held out his hands for Ryan's tolerant inspection.

A horn outside signaled Summer's arrival, but Seth seemed reluctant to vacate the kitchen. A loud blare sent a stronger message to get moving.

"Guess I'd better go, dude. I'm … It's just really good to see you. I mean, in here. In the morning… We need to log some serious Seth/Ryan time."

Ryan nodded, as he took another sip of coffee. "I'll be here."

Sandy waited until Seth had departed before asking carefully, "You really fell? Or you just wanted to make Seth feel better?"

Smiling wanly, Ryan replied. "Kinda' both, I guess. I did fall about 18 feet – luckily, there was some pretty thick padding on the floor. But I've never been good with heights since.

Sandy frowned. Something still didn't click for him. "I'm thinking there's something more to the story…"

The teenager ducked his head for just an instant, before looking up at Sandy and admitting, "Yeah, well, I mighta' left out the part about having two sprained wrists at the time."

Sandy's mind raced in multiple directions. First, how typical of his foster-son to be more concerned for Seth's feelings than his own. Next, why would this kid have even tried climbing injured? Answered _that_ question instantly – _because he's Ryan_. Finally, two sprained wrists? What the..?

As though reading his mind, Ryan elaborated swiftly, "Bike accident." Then abruptly changed the topic, "I thought you were all about offering bagels… got any sesame?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Sandy answered gamely, although he was not quite willing to drop the previous subject. As he stuck his hand into the bag in search of some sesame goodness, he looked across at Ryan. "That was very considerate, Ryan. I'm sure Seth appreciated that you shared that piece of information with him."

Ryan frowned and leaned back in his chair, but said nothing.

"You know, Ryan, Seth's my son, and I love him, but I know he can be annoying as hell sometimes…"

Ryan's frown morphed into a twisted smile as he laughed, "Seth annoying? Ya' don't say..."

Sandy jammed the blade into the bagel slicer with exaggerated force. "You mock, my friend, but the fact is you need to let him know when he's stepping over lines, because that's the only way he's ever going to learn. Your feelings are every bit as important as his are, kid, and he needs to understand that. _You_ need to understand that."

Ryan ducked his head, but not before Sandy caught the almost startled look the teen shot his way.

"Capiche?" Sandy waited for an answer for a moment, but got nothing. "Ryan?" he prompted.

"Sorry," Ryan mumbled. "I hear what you're saying, okay?"

Sandy wasn't convinced that hearing and understanding were the same thing with Ryan, but for the moment maybe 'hearing' was progress. "Shall I shmear?" he asked, generously applying cream cheese when the boy nodded.

Keeping his eyes on the bagel, Sandy continued, "So you know what you've done, right? Because you've given Seth ammunition he'll use for the next fifty years! Every Chrismukkuh, every Thanksgiving, every birthday, whenever you guys bring over our grandchildren – anytime the family's together, he'll drag that story out…"

Sandy surreptitiously observed Ryan, who was gripping his coffee mug with both hands, and staring down into it. The teenager's eyes blinked several times as he appeared to be processing Sandy's words. At last the boy looked up. "I could live with that," he said, as the corners of his mouth twisted into something halfway between a grin and a grimace.

Sandy smiled broadly, "I'm just saying… you've been warned."

Ryan ducked his head again, and looked back up through his bangs. "You see Kirsten this afternoon?"

Sandy's smile softened, as he nodded. "I'm telling you, it's gonna' be okay, kid. You'll see…"

Ryan flicked his eyebrows up, as he bit his lip. Sandy wasn't sure how to translate the message the boy was sending. Didn't know whether Ryan even knew.

He opted for a lighter track. "I can tell you one thing she'd say right now. Something you would believe…"

"What?"

"_Eat your bagel." _

This time Ryan groaned, and rolled his eyes at Sandy. But he also bit into the bagel.

>>>>>>>

Sitting inside his office an hour later, Sandy heard the door closing in the kitchen. Ryan must have finished cleaning up – something the kid had insisted on doing, despite Sandy's protests.

His attention returned to the receiver he held in his hand, as the 'on hold' musak stopped playing, and the sound of electronic switching promised a human voice would soon follow. He was not disappointed.

"Manny! What's news, my friend?"

>>>>>>>

Sandy hung up the telephone, his mind working fast. The news had caught him by surprise, although as he thought about it, he should have seen it coming.

He rocked back and forth in his leather chair as he considered his next move, concentrating so intently that the sound of the phone ringing startled him.

He grabbed it quickly, thinking Manny might be calling back.

Hearing the voice on the other end, he dropped his head into one hand. Just what they needed. Child Services…

Sandy grimaced as he heard Mike Shuster's heated words. As he asked questions which Sandy had no good answers for.

"_What in the world were you thinking, taking Trey Atwood into your home? Dammit, Sandy. That was the brother who led Ryan into trouble two summers ago!"_

"_Where were you, while all this was going on?"_

"_Why didn't you tell us about Kirsten's problem?"_

"_Who was watching out for Ryan?"_

Sandy felt like he'd just had his ass kicked the old fashioned way, as he hung up the telephone. Mike had made it very clear that if Ryan were not turning eighteen so soon, Child Services would look very seriously at removing the boy from their custody. Even now, they wanted reassurance that Ryan himself wouldn't prefer another situation. Two months was, after all, two months…

Fine. Another thing to discuss with Ryan, _after_ he talked to Kirsten. Because it had become quite clear that Ryan needed her reassurance – needed to be certain, after everything that happened, she still wanted him with them. Which of course she did.

He was taken by surprise by his own backlash of thought, as he waged a brief internal battle. _Didn't she? _Yes, dammit, of course she does. _You think. _I know. I know _her_…

He closed his eyes, thinking if he harbored even the tiniest of doubts, despite how well he knew his wife's heart… how much less confident must Ryan feel?

He blew out a sharp breath, and rose from his chair. He'd see Kirsten later today, he told himself firmly, at which time all doubts would be dispelled.

But right now, he needed to act quickly, or there could be worse trouble in store for the Cohen/Atwood clan than a livid Michael Shuster.

Sandy grabbed his keys, quickly checking in with Ryan to say he had to run some errands. To assure the teen he was only a phone call away, if Ryan needed _anything_.

>>>>>>>

It seemed odd to see Caleb's home, and know the man would never glower at him from the entryway again. Their relationship had been fraught with aversion and mistrust from day one, but Sandy found himself missing the guy in the same way that superheroes would miss their villains if they were ever fully vanquished. Sometimes you can define yourself more clearly by determining who you are not. And Sandy had spent twenty years assuring himself he was _nothing_ like Caleb Nichol.

Today, he wasn't so sure…

Julie was waiting on the steps, her eyebrows drawn together impatiently. "We just got home this morning, Sandy. Jimmy's gone over to pack up his things from his boat, and won't be here until later. Couldn't whatever you want to talk about have waited?"

Sandy stopped a few steps below her, and shook his head. "No, Julie. I don't think it can."

She sighed in exasperation, and spun around toward the entryway. "Then let's get this over with," she snapped.

Sandy followed her inside the house, where she stopped in the entryway and turned to face him once again. Sandy scrutinized her every movement, still defining his strategy. She arched her neck, and glared at him through enormous eyes. He couldn't shake the comparison to a serpent – a cobra, hypnotizing its victim, poised to strike.

Her voice was cold when she spoke, "I told you last night, Marissa's not talking to you. And just so we're crystal clear, Sanford, I want you to keep Ryan away from my daughter, too!"

Sandy's face grew dark, but he said nothing. _Not yet. Not unless she forced him_.

Julie didn't seem to notice his reaction, as she continued, "Seriously, isn't it time to turn that boy out of your pool house? This whole mess just proves he's uncontrollable."

She paused, looking at Sandy with faux-sympathy before venturing further. "You shouldn't feel bad – I was taken in, too. But in the end, he's always going to be a problem. Cut your losses, Sandy. He's …"

His voice deadly calm, Sandy interrupted her. "Julie, you'd do well to remember that Ryan is my son."

Julie shook her long mane off her face haughtily, as she corrected, "Your _foster_-son, Sandy. There's a difference."

"Not to me," Sandy said firmly, as Julie tilted her head, and arched her brows unbelievingly.

"Well, there should be!" she admonished sternly.

"You can't blame Ryan for this whole mess, Julie. God knows there's enough blame for everybody." Sandy kept his eyes on Julie's face, which didn't move a muscle. Determined to try one last time to reach an understanding, he forced himself to speak calmly, "We can work together, Julie. Make sure our kids get through this thing without further legal consequences."

When Julie blinked, Sandy continued, "I'd never ask Marisa to do anything she wasn't willing to do, Julie – you know that. But I do need to talk with her."

A glower spread across the woman's features, as she said scathingly, "Well, you can forget it! Marissa's _done_ with helping Ryan. Let the system do its job, Sandy… I'm sure he'll get _exactly_ what he deserves."

Sandy took a step towards her, the guilt he had felt driving over by now dissipated, replaced by ice-cold anger. He said slowly, "I'm glad you've got such faith in the system, Julie. Because from what I hear, you're soon going to get a first hand view of it."

The red-head twisted her neck, and narrowed her eyes to slits, reminding Sandy once more of a snake -- sinuous, and lethal. He was pleased that her voice seemed a shade less certain as she responded. "What do you mean?"

"Remember a few days ago, standing in my kitchen with your prenup?" He kept his voice even, giving nothing away.

She frowned, and looked more uneasy. "Of course I do. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Sandy smiled lazily, and arched his eyebrows. He picked up a small crystal paperweight resting near him, and turned it over in his hands, as he explained, "The toxicology reports came back from Caleb's autopsy. It seems there was an unusually high concentration of sedatives in his system."

He watched as Julie blanched, before adding, "The same drug, I understand, which was found concentrated in a pitcher of margaritas, as well as down the drain in your summer kitchen the night Caleb died. Traces of which were also on the margarita glass that was shattered by the pool… I understand the shards had two sets of fingerprints. Wanna' guess whose?"

Julie's eyes widened, as her breathing quickened. She sought reassurance, her voice suddenly laced with honey. "Sandy, you can't think I'd… the police wouldn't think I'd ever hurt Cal? I swear to you, Sandy, if he had any sedatives in his body, I didn't have anything to do with it!"

Sandy caught her eyes with his, holding them as he said quietly, "What the police think is what's important, Julie. And the police seem to be thinking you might have had a few million reasons to want my father-in-law dead."

Julie backed up, until she bumped into the wall. She leaned heavily against it for support, as she implored, "You've got to tell them I'm not a murderer!"

Setting down the paperweight, Sandy donned a sympathetic mask. "I'd like to help you, Julie. I really would," he said gently. He drew in a deep breath, before splaying his fingers in a small shrug, and grimacing, "But I don't know if I can…"

She stood paralyzed for a moment, seeming to consider Sandy's words, before stabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to pull herself together. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"Now that's an ugly accusation," Sandy complained, feigning hurt.

"If I let you talk to Marissa… You'll forget about our conversation? About the prenup?" she asked warily.

Sandy shook his head from side to side. "Julie, Julie, Julie…. You know I can't lie if they ask me questions." He paused, before continuing. "But there are different ways to tell the truth…"

She blinked several times, before whispering, "I don't know… It's too much to think about…"

Sandy watched as she pulled herself together, realizing he still had some convincing to do.

"I'm just glad you've got such faith in the _system_, Julie. That you can rely on it to give you exactly what you deserve…"

She sputtered, "I didn't … this is … it's …" She stopped, and blinked slowly before finally asking, "Do you think I need a lawyer?'

He shook his head slowly up and down.

"Would you.."

"No, Julie. I can't. I'm sure you understand. Cal was my wife's father. Besides, Kirsten and Ryan need my full attention right now. And Seth…" He shrugged helplessly.

She nodded. "Who would you recommend?" she managed to ask.

Sandy shook his head. "You see, Julie, that's the thing. Caleb had just about every top firm in the area under retainer. That was always one of his tricks to keep his competitors from hiring any of the premier legal talent – a highly recommended strategy if you can afford it. If you think you might be sued. So you see, just about any decent firm is conflicted. I do have a couple of people I would normally recommend, but here's my problem – I may need _them_ for Ryan…"

Julie's eyes narrowed once again. "Fine, Sandy. I'll hire someone from outside the area."

"With what money?"

"I've got plenty of money," she snapped.

"Not after Kirsten files for an injunction, prohibiting you from touching any of Caleb's assets until the legal issues surrounding his death have been settled. And Jimmy doesn't have nearly the kind of resources you'll need to fight this thing."

This time Julie gasped, as she began to see her dilemma. "You wouldn't really do that, would you? File for an injunction?" Her mouth quivered, as real fear set in.

Sandy looked down at the ground, and back at Julie. He closed the space between them, and put one hand gently on her shoulder. She looked at him hopefully, as he whispered, "In a heartbeat."

She froze, not breathing for several seconds, before drawing in an indignant breath. "Fine. Talk to Marissa. We'll _cooperate_," she spat, twisting away from him.

Sandy smiled thinly, pleased with the result if not the methodology. "Good. I knew we'd work this out…"

She glared.

He smiled more coldly. "Just one more thing, Julie. If I hear you've said or done anything that hurts Ryan, I won't rest until we're even. Understood?"

Julie drew her lips together, before squeezing out a clipped "Trust me Sandy, I understand!" She whirled around, and headed toward Marissa's room, Sandy following close behind.

>>>>>>>

As Sandy left the house forty-five minutes later, Julie caught up with him.

"Channeling Caleb Nichol much these days?" she demanded.

Sandy felt sucker-punched by Julie's question, but turned to face her and held his ground. "I'd channel the devil himself if that's what it took to save my family."

Julie glared at him. "Then congratulations, Sandy. I think you just did!" She wheeled, and marched back inside the house.

Sandy made his way back to his BMW, muttering under his breath, "You should know…"

He looked at his watch. Only four hours and a visit with Trey Atwood separating him from seeing Kirsten.

_>>>>>>>_

_tbc_

A/N2: Reviews appreciated – your thoughts, comments, advice, etc. are like manna for the hungry…. Many thanks! And a very special thanks to those of you who have repeatedly been so generous with your time and your incites. _Merci beaucoup…_


	6. Chapter 6 & Ryan's Reply

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: Originally, I was going to post the letter from Ryan separately, but it seemed to fit better tucked inside this chapter…

**>>>>>>>**

**Time: Afternoon of Day Four**

Sandy sat in the visitor's chair, watching the young man sleep. He looked fragile lying there, hooked up to an IV, with bandages around his upper torso, and purple bruises across his face. Sandy thought of the similar bruises Ryan wore, and cringed. He'd been the catalyst that drew the brothers together, forcing their interaction, setting things in motion and then ignoring the maelstroms that had formed. Dumping Trey with all his past and present complications onto Ryan's teenage shoulders.

Ryan hadn't wanted to bring Trey home. But rather than pressing for the reasons behind the boy's resistance, Sandy had pressed Ryan to capitulate. Now he wished with all his heart that he had heeded Ryan's wishes, and left Trey outside their world.

But he had failed his foster-son, the cost of his mistakes measured in currency more precious than bruised faces and broken bodies. Brothers and brotherhood, ripped and torn asunder. Hearts broken. Souls pierced with pain and doubt.

Sandy's bleak thoughts were interrupted, as Trey stirred, and groaned. His eyelids fluttered, as he tried to focus.

"How are you feeling?" Sandy asked, as Trey's eyes found him.

"Like someone shot me," the young man answered, a pain-laced smirk upon his features. He stirred a little, as his hand found the control for the bed, and he punched the button to raise its head. "Can you give me a hand?" he asked, as he fumbled with his pillows.

"Sure. You want the nurse?" Sandy rose and rearranged the pillows behind Trey so the young man was more comfortable.

"Nah, I'm good."

"You look better today. Your color looks better," Sandy offered, returning to his seat, but pulling the chair up closer to the bed.

Trey shrugged, and then smiled with something akin to gratitude. "Thanks for coming. It's good to have a visitor…"

Sandy noted Trey had no problem making eye contact, or holding it. His open face suggested honesty, but Sandy knew too well the duplicity that lurked behind the young man's smile. "We agreed we'd talk again," Sandy said neutrally, some small part of him hoping that Trey would have had a change of heart.

"So we did," the older Atwood brother said, as he fingered his wristband with his other hand. The corners of his mouth twitched, but Sandy couldn't tell whether the young man fought a smile or a frown. Trey finally continued, keeping his voice low, "What have you got for me?" His tone was edgy, as he spiced his words with warning.

Sandy drew in his breath, still finding Trey's threats appalling. How could Trey play so uncaringly with his brother's future? What was this young man capable of? And why hadn't he seen behind the façade before? _Because he hadn't bothered to look…_ he told himself, knowing it was true.

He forced himself back into the moment, and kept his voice low as well, reminding himself to focus on his goal. "I talked to the police, Trey. And to your PO, off the record. I don't know what you were thinking, with the gun and the drugs. You knew the terms of your parole – and the consequences of violating it. You're gonna' have to serve the rest of your sentence on the stolen car. You know that, right?"

Trey's eyes narrowed. "I don't hear anything coming out of your mouth that's gonna' help me, Mr. Cohen. Maybe you didn't understand what I said before?" He let his words hang in the air between them.

Frowning, Sandy replied. "I understood you perfectly, Trey. The lies and half-truths you'll tell the police, strung together to blame Ryan for what happened."

Sandy sucked in a loud breath as he contemplated what a conviction could mean for his foster-son. As he thought what prison life would be for the youth -- how his slight stature and blond good looks would play in lock-up. A hell the young man lying there should know about far too well.

Shaking his head in revulsion, Sandy asked, "I'd just like to understand. How could you do this to your own brother?"

Trey glared coldly. "The way I see it, you're the one about to screw my little brother, if you don't come through with something for me. Something interesting enough to keep me from telling the police the story just like I told you…"

"The lies?"

Trey shrugged. "Does it matter? Truth is a pretty fluid concept, anyway – so much depends on who's doing the talking. And in case you haven't figured it out, I'm a lot more talkative than Ry." He folded his arms across his chest, and continued, "So I gotta' ask again, what have you got for me?"

Fighting the urge to crush the young man, both literally and figuratively, Sandy closed his eyes and counted to ten. Opening his eyes, he said, "This much I can offer. If you cooperate with the police, and help them make a case against your supplier, they'll reduce the drug charges to a misdemeanor. Otherwise, you're facing felony possession, and maybe more. The police like you for dealing, Trey. And I understand the ADA who caught your case from Marissa's party is anxious to get another shot at prosecuting you..."

Trey raised his eyebrows. "That's better. And hell, I'll be happy to turn Jess over. This was that little skank's fault anyway. It was her stupid gun." He bit his lip, and frowned once more. "But I just don't think that's gonna' be enough…"

Sandy could feel his temper rising, as he stood up and looked down at the older Atwood. His voice took on a deadly tenor as he spoke. "Then try this on for size. If you say one false word about what happened between you and Ryan… if you unfairly implicate your brother in any way, I will make sure that you regret it. And in addition to the parole violation and felony drug charges that you currently face, we'll add assault and attempted rape!"

Trey's eyes widened, as he pushed back in his bed, putting a few more inches between himself and Sandy. "That's not… I don't believe you. The ADA would use it against Marissa. Say that's why she shot me… not because of Ry. She wouldn't dare say anything…"

Trey's comments surprised him. In truth, he'd never ask Marissa to follow through, but he'd not counted on Trey realizing the danger she might face. He had merely sought her permission to lodge the threat, and to play along if necessary. He donned a mask of utter confidence, keeping his voice even, as he bluffed. "She's willing to take that risk. And frankly, if a jury hears her story, I don't think they'll have any trouble sorting out who's at fault. Do you?"

Trey breathed deeply in the silence that permeated the room. Finally, one side of his mouth turned up into a reluctant smile. "But the drug charges… you'll help with getting them knocked down?"

"You'll stick to the truth?" Sandy asked sternly, fighting to stay focused as relief flooded through him.

"The whole truth, and nothing but the truth…" Trey answered, sighing. He rested his head back against the pillow, and closed his eyes.

As Sandy debated leaving, Trey stirred again. He looked across at Sandy, his expression turned wistful, and his eyes cloudy. "You know, I was laying here earlier, wondering what might have happened if you'd been my PD the first time I got into trouble. If things would have worked out differently, I mean…"

Shocked at this unexpected statement, Sandy dropped back into his seat. He chose to misunderstand the young man's direction, steering a different course. "You got probation, right? For your first offense?"

Trey shook his head.

"I couldn't have done any better than that, if I'd caught the case back then." Sandy raised his eyebrows and hitched his shoulders in resignation. There wasn't much more he could say.

The young man frowned, and looked away. When he looked back, his face seemed younger, and his demeanor more vulnerable. "That's not what I meant," Trey clarified. "I mean, I was the same as Ryan back then. Same fucked-up family background. You might have taken _me_ in, like you did my little brother."

Sandy tried not to stare gape-mouthed at Ryan's sibling as he tried to imagine a younger Trey. But no youthful Trey he could conjure even _remotely_ resembled Ryan. He said evenly, "I've had hundreds of clients, Trey. Ryan's the only one I ever brought home…"

"Yeah, I know. He won the jackpot. Got the big house, the cars, the clothes, the lifestyle… I'm just saying, what if it had been me? What if I were the one you'd picked? That you'd given everything to? My life would have turned out different, if I'd had that kind of chance…" He met Sandy's steady gaze without blinking, the longing visible in his eyes.

Sandy shook his head slowly, as he asked, "You think it's about the things, Trey?"

"Things? Nah." Trey cocked his head, as though about to share a secret. "The truth is, it's all about the money." He raised his eyebrows to punctuate his statement. "Out there, it's the only thing that counts. If you've got it, you've got the world. If not, the world's got you…"

When Sandy frowned, Trey shifted his position, and spoke again. "Why did you take Ryan in, anyway? I mean, what did you see in him? What made him so special?" He ground his jaws together, and continued, "Was it because he's so damned smart?"

Sandy leaned forward in his seat, unprepared for the question. He'd asked himself the same thing a thousand times, and come up with a variety of answers. None complete, none exactly right, but all true… He asked instead, "Do you know what the first thing Ryan said to me was, when I met him that day in juvie?"

Trey's eyebrows crinkled, as he seemed puzzled by the question. He shrugged. "I don't know. He probably wanted to know how much trouble he was in – what might happen to him."

"He wanted to know where _you_ were."

"Yeah?" the young man seemed startled. "Really?"

"Really." Sandy drew his lips together as he thought back. Then he looked at Trey, and said, "I remember being struck by this kid, first time he'd been arrested, first time in juvie – I knew he had to be scared to death, but his first question wasn't about his own problems. He wanted to know about his older brother."

Trey's jaw muscle twitched slightly, as he drew in a labored breath. "He never told me that," he said softly.

Sandy shook his head, "He wouldn't."

Trey grimaced. He closed his eyes as though in pain.

"Do you need something? Some medication?" Sandy asked. "I can call the nurse."

Trey's eyes reopened, as the young man shook his head 'no'. "I don't need medicine, Mr. Cohen." His eyes narrowed, as he seemed to funnel strength from somewhere deep inside. His voice took on a tortured edge, "I need a life."

Inexplicably, Sandy found himself moved to offer comfort. "It's not too late, Trey. You're young – you can still have a life. But you've got to start making better choices. Choices that respect other people. Choices that allow you to respect _yourself_."

Sandy stopped talking, as he sensed Trey had stopped listening. What had he been thinking, anyway? Ryan might care about his opinion, but there was no reason to think that Trey did.

Trey snorted bitterly. "God. I see why Ry is so taken by you. 'Cause what you just said? He thinks that's all true – he's never figured out it's all just crap."

Sandy blinked, surprised by the words. "What do you mean?"

The young man flung his head back against the pillows, and let out one harsh chortle, before straightening back up, and glaring at Sandy. He turned his head, and drew his eyebrows together to emphasize what he would say, as he continued angrily, "I mean -- take Ry, thinking all those years if he just did the right stuff, made the right choices, it'd make a difference. Like mom would stop drinking, or dad would turn into someone who gave a fuck about him… about anybody. Ry fuckin' lived in a fantasy world, where he actually thought if he was just good enough, smart enough -- that things would be better."

Trey smirked as he continued. "But you know what? They _weren't_. No matter how hard he tried – and believe me, Mr. Cohen, he tried – nothing changed. I used to try to explain to him that he was wastin' his time, but my freakin' genius of a brother – _Ryeinstein_ – just kept trying. And you what? He _still_ got the shit beat out of him, mom just drank more, and got higher, and dad got replaced by a whole string of bastards that got their kicks outta' kicking mom and us around."

"Trey," Sandy started, disturbed by this glimpse into the Atwood world.

Trey sliced into Sandy's response, "So I'm thinking maybe Ry's not so smart after all. 'Cause where we're from, all that shit about respecting people and making choices isn't worth crap. He needed me to ground him. Help him face facts, and forget all his freakin' dreams. I taught him reality, man. Fuck, or get fucked."

Sandy found himself staring, as Trey's face contorted, and the young man continued, "Do you know how hard it is to live with someone like him? God, I hated him sometimes… I mean, so what if he's always 'the _smart_ one', or 'the _good_ one'? He needed to understand that he wasn't better than anybody else." Trey fought to keep from breaking down completely, as he spat out, "Not better than _me_!"

Listening to the young man's anger and frustration, Sandy ached to think of the lessons drilled into Ryan's head as a child. That Ryan had survived and had become the amazing kid he was, despite the darkness that had surrounded him, spoke volumes. But still, the lessons that Ryan needed to learn, and _unlearn_…

Trey was staring at him, seeming more collected. His brows were furrowed. Sandy cleared his throat, and said, "You asked before why I brought Ryan into our home. You asked if it was because he was smart. I'll admit, that was a _part_ of it. But Trey, that's not why I brought him home. It was more to do with what I saw inside -- a kid who had a wealth of integrity, even if he'd just taken part in something he clearly understood was wrong …"

"How did you get that? He'd just gone with me to steal a fuckin' car. Where's the _wealth of integrity_ in that?"

Sandy smiled, remembering his first encounter with a _smart-mouthed_, but obviously very _smart_ Ryan Atwood. "Intuition? Gut reaction? I can tell you this… he didn't lie to me. He admitted what he'd done, and he accepted full responsibility for his actions. You'd be surprised how rarely that happened, when I was a PD." Sandy shrugged, "You've worked with kids as long as I have, you get a feeling. With Ryan, I just _knew_."

Trey shook his head, "So you're saying the fact that he had his head up his ass is what won him the lotto? If we were all like Ry, then maybe we'd all win?" Trey closed his eyes, and laughed to himself.

Sandy started to respond, but Trey shook him off. "That's bullshit, man, and you know it. 'Cause one day, when you guys are tired of your Chino charity case, and he's back on the streets, he's gonna' find out that being good or being smart doesn't pay the rent, or buy food, or get you the stuff you need. That life with you guys was some fantastic dream. And the world out here? Where I am? Where _he_ belongs? Is nothing but a fucking nightmare!"

"Trey, I understand your life has been difficult. You've faced stuff no kid should every have to live through, and I'm sorry. But you've got to see that your choices and Ryan's have been vastly different, with very different consequences. And know this – despite what you may think, Ryan's _not_ some charity case. He's a part of our family, in every way that really matters."

The older Atwood brother curled his lips as he rocked his head back and forth infinitesimally. "Yeah? Well, I've got to tell _you_ something. That's _not_ what it looked like to me. I mean, yeah, he's got the stuff, but hell, Mr. Cohen, you guys don't even have him living inside your house! He explained why, when I asked, in typical Ry fashion -- always giving people the benefit of the doubt. But I know my brother, and if you don't believe he's thought a lot about why he's still outside – what that _means_ – you don't know Ryan nearly as well as you think you do."

"Ryan could move into the house anytime he wants to – but he's always liked his privacy." Sandy countered.

"You're talking to the wrong Atwood, Mr. Cohen. Ever discussed it with him? Or while you're at it, did you ever discuss why you call him 'kid' all the time? I guess it's better than 'kiddo', but it's damned impersonal. Ya' oughta' think about changing it up sometimes. Use 'bud', or 'pal', or maybe 'ace'. Or hey, here's one – how about 'son'? You know, in the _generic_ sense."

"Why? Did he say that bothered him?" Sandy's eyes had widened in surprise. He'd never thought Ryan had an issue with being called 'kid'. And saying 'son' seemed somehow too presumptuous. Although he'd slipped at least once in the last couple of days. If it were up to him, he'd use the term often … it described how he thought of the teenager. And _not_ in any generic sense…

Trey smiled coldly, "As you said before – he _wouldn't_." The smile faded, as the young man continued, "And I never saw you hug him. I thought that's what families did, man. The ones that worked…" He paused, and shrugged. "But then, what the hell do I know?"

"He's not too big on being touched," Sandy answered, feeling a bit defensive.

"Says who? He's a kid. Kids need to be hugged, before it's too late." Trey bit his lip, as he said, "He deserves it, Mr. Cohen."

Sandy nodded, thinking he had been wrong before. There was some similarity between the Atwood brothers after all.

Trey swallowed hard, as he grimaced. "What I said before? About what was important, and stuff? I wasn't wrong, you know. Except about one thing… Ry is better than me."

The statement hovered in the room, as Sandy tried to come up with a response that sounded right. He settled for something true. "Everyone is wired differently, Trey. And everyone makes mistakes. That's just life. But what comes next determines who we are. What we learn from the mistakes, how we change… And despite how it might feel sometimes, in the end what matters most are the people in your life – not the things. Fix the people part, and I think you'll like yourself a lot better."

Trey snorted. "Thank you, Dr. Phil. God, the more you talk, the more I see why my brother idolizes you. He's like some rat to your pied piper… Just do me a favor, and don't let him drown."

Sandy raised his eyebrows, torn between surprise and consternation. "Idolizes?"

"I watched him around you, and heard him quoting stuff you'd told him. He looks up to you, man. That's big, 'cause Ry's real careful about who he trusts."

It was hard to tell if Trey's words were spiteful, or protective. Sandy chose to think the latter. "This much I know, Trey. I love Ryan like my own son, and I'll do everything in my power to keep him happy, and healthy, and safe. That much I promise."

Trey nodded, and closed his eyes.

Sandy tried to sort through the twisted path their discussion had taken. Through threats and anger and frustration and pain, to bittersweet protectiveness and mangled love. Nothing about this brother was a straightforward as he had assumed. And going one step further, how much more complex was Ryan? He twisted in his chair, unsettled.

As Sandy stirred, Trey turned to him and asked softly, "I guess he's not coming to see me?"

Taking in a long breath, Sandy shook his head from side to side. "I don't think that's going to happen, Trey. Not now, anyway. And in the future, I want any contact with Ryan to come through me." His voice was gentle, but very firm.

Trey nodded his acquiescence, before adding, "That's what I figured. Expected."

Sandy stood up, preparing to leave. "You need your rest. I'll check in tomorrow…" he surprised himself by saying, as he headed toward the door.

"Wait!" Trey called out.

Sandy turned, eyebrows arched in a question.

"Look in the drawer," the young man said, nodding to his nightstand.

Sandy crossed the room, and pulled the drawer out. The only thing in the drawer was a stapled document. He glanced at Trey, who shook his head, indicating Sandy should read it.

His heart beat faster as he realized he was reading a copy of Trey's signed statement to the police, made earlier this morning. Sandy raced through the words, until he reached the end, and his eyes met Trey's. "You said you provoked Ryan's actions. That the fight was your fault."

Trey smiled reluctantly, "Yeah. Police said they were gonna' issue the warrant for parole violation sometime today or tomorrow. They're still thinking through the rest of it."

Sandy knew 'the rest of it' could include attempted manslaughter, based on the statement he'd just read, together with Marissa's and Ryan's earlier statements. Trey didn't exactly confess, but he'd opened up a door if the ADA wanted to prosecute. He wondered if Trey realized how serious the consequences could become.

"Don't worry, Mr. Cohen," Trey's voice brought Sandy back to the present. "I talked to my PD. I understand what this might mean…"

"Then, what was all _this_, today?"

The young man shrugged. "I play poker, too, Mr. Cohen." He let the statement hang for an instant, before asking, "So, is there still a deal, on the drug thing?"

Sandy nodded yes, but thought about _his_ bluff, thinking maybe he had not been as effective as he'd thought.

He pressed for one more answer, "Why'd you _really_ make this statement?"

Trey sighed, and raised his eyebrows. "I asked myself the same thing, and you know what? Ryan just rubs off sometimes…"

**>>>>>>>**

**Time: Evening of Day Four**

Sandy gripped the wheel of his BMW tightly, replaying scenes from his visit with Kirsten. He smiled as he remembered how beautiful she looked, and how her face lit up when she saw him. Struggling, yes… but fighting back with purpose. Loving arms, reaching out for him… Those first minutes so tender, as they touched gently, each so eager, and yet so very careful of one another.

A fingertip, a brush of hand, warm breath against bare skin… each nerve dancing, marvelously alive. His lips finding her hair, her neck, her eyelids … and finally her lips. So soft. Like pressing against warm velvet. His kiss becoming deeper, harder, longer, as she responded to his touch. Losing himself inside her arms, becoming for those moments separate from the world…

The world that too soon cried to be acknowledged, with its newest tribulations for their family. Sandy chewed the inside of his cheek, as he thought about the meeting with Dr. Woodruff and the other counselor. Kirsten sitting beside him on the loveseat. The square cocktail table separating them from the counselors, in their upholstered chairs.

Where Sandy had held Kirsten's hand in his, as he explained about the shooting. About Ryan's fears. About what he'd done so far. About what remained. All while Kirsten sat frozen, her only sign of understanding the tears threatening to spill from her blue eyes.

What happened next was not what he'd imagined. And yet, so very Kirsten.

He could see it all unfold, as he had finished speaking.

_Kirsten blinking, as she tried to assimilate everything she'd heard. Her face draining itself of color, as she looked from him to the counselors._

_Desperately whispering "Why didn't you tell me?" _

_His looking to the counselors for their support. Their explanations concerning detox and her not needing to confront new issues set forth eloquently. Convincingly. _

_Except that Kirsten was not convinced._

_Kirsten speaking once again, her voice strangled with pain, "Sandy, how could you let them keep this from me?" _

_Raising her hand to his lips. His answer, inadequate, "I'm so sorry, honey."_

_Her face slowly regaining color, and her breath becoming louder._

_Dr. Woodruff stepping in, "Kirsten, the decision to withhold information wasn't Sandy's – it was mine." Then the counselors asking how she was feeling, saying they needed to discuss the way forward…_

_His wife glaring at the counselors, her face flushing. Her fingernails digging into his hand, as she addressed them, her tone biting, "You want to know my feelings? Ryan's hurting, and he doesn't even know if I want him in our lives? You've made him wait for days, not knowing? How the hell do you think I'm feeling?"_

_Saying softly, "Kirsten, honey…" Stopping, feeling her hand clutch his leg, as she suddenly shoved herself to her feet._

_Kirsten looking first at him, and then at the counselors, her face livid. Her angry words, coated thick with pain, "You had no right to keep this from me!"_

_Her next words reverberating in the newborn silence._

"_He's. My. Child!"_

_Kirsten holding out her hand to him, looking for support. Rising to hold her. Feeling her body tremble, and then grow still, as she gathered herself together and stepped away. _

_Watching as she silently turned to leave, and then suddenly turned back, resolved. _

_His wife standing before them, head high, eyes snapping… imperious. Her voice like newly forged steel, as she commanded, "As to how we move forward? I'll tell you!"_

"_Ryan. Here. Tomorrow." _

_Her eyes daring anyone to object. _

_The door slamming on her way out._

_Dr. Woodruff looking wide-eyed across at him, "I think I've just encountered Caleb Nichol's daughter."_

_His smiling as he replied, "Not even close. That, my friend, was Ryan Atwood's mother."_

Before he left Suriak, they had debated other, swifter options – like a telephone call that evening. But even an anxious Kirsten allowed that meeting in person would create fewer opportunities for miscommunication. In the meantime, Sandy could tell Ryan about today's meeting. Tomorrow, Kirsten would speak for Kirsten.

**>>>>>>>**

**Time: Same time in the evening of Day Four**

Ryan sat at his desk, staring at his PC. He knew Sandy was on his way home, and that he'd told Kirsten about Trey. And that Kirsten had gotten angry that the counselors at Suriak hadn't told her anything. Sandy said she'd made it clear she wanted him to stay. That they'd talk more when he got home…

So why wasn't he more relieved? That's what he'd wanted, wasn't it?

Except, they still didn't get it. And that was the thing he had to make them see. Had to make Kirsten see, even if Sandy couldn't. Sandy, who was trying so hard to comfort him, and to make him feel wanted, now and into the future. But who sometimes had a blind spot for things about Ryan that he didn't want to see.

He'd wanted to explain to Sandy, but couldn't find the courage or the words. Speaking wasn't easy in his world. He'd learned so early the price of words. Never knowing which ones would be accepted, and which ones would bring him pain, he had found silence his friend and best defense. He was still more comfortable there, but his comfort was not important. He owed it to the Cohens to be honest with them.

And if he couldn't say the words to Sandy, maybe he could write them to Kirsten. He trusted her to see the truth.

He started typing, editing as he went. He tried to be open in what he wrote, but he left some things out. Like, he couldn't talk about his fear of prison. Kirsten didn't need to hear about his nightmares. He'd heard enough to know the hell he'd face inside…

Sometimes he cringed as he reread paragraphs he'd written, and at the end he was more than a little tempted to delete everything. But something held him back. Something Kirsten said about important things …

Finally, his heart beating fiercely, he made himself press 'send'.

>>>>>>>

Dear Kirsten,

The first thing I want to tell you is that your email was the nicest thing anyone has ever written to me. I would have written back earlier, but Sandy said you'd only get to receive email after he met with you.

I've been thinking about you, too. Sandy keeps us up to date with any news, but it's not nearly the same as having you with us. We – I – miss you, too.

But I'm just putting off what I really need to say, so here goes…

I know Sandy told you about Trey. You can't know how sorry I am, because my actions have hurt your family, and Marissa, and have taken up time and energy and resources that should be spent on more important things.

I'm not sure what Sandy said to you, because I haven't really been able to explain things to him. It's not that I don't want to – more like I'm not entirely sure myself. I do know that I never meant for things to get so out of control. Somehow, it was like something just snapped, and everything spilled out, and I couldn't stop it.

I know it's my fault, and that I deserve whatever consequences come my way. If I had just let Trey leave without going over there to confront him, or if I had left his apartment when he gave me the option, none of this would have happened. Marissa wouldn't have shot Trey, and Trey wouldn't be going back to prison…

And in the midst of all this, I get this amazing letter from you, which I know that I really don't deserve, because you didn't know what I'd done – what I'm capable of doing – before you wrote it. Now, you've got to wonder if I might not do something like this again, and the fact is, I can't come up with any answer _I_ can trust.

So, everything has changed now, hasn't it?

Because you have to know now that I'm not the Ryan you wrote to – that he doesn't exist. And I can't pretend anymore. I can't ignore all the stuff that happened before, because it's just too big.

Bottom line is this – even though I wanted to be different, to be like everyone wanted me to be, it turns out I'm still an Atwood underneath.

And the whole time, you're thinking I don't lie to you. But the fact is, my whole _life_ here is a lie – especially this last year. And the truth is something that you guys should never have to face. It's ugly, and it's mine.

I just keep thinking that you probably had it right that first night Sandy brought me to your house. I don't belong in Newport. I really don't deserve to be in your home, with your family. No matter how hard I try, I screw things up. It's what I do… So I want you to know that I'll understand if you guys want me to leave. I'll be eighteen soon, with options that I didn't have before, when you took me in.

And I wouldn't want you to feel bad. I mean, why would anyone open up their home to someone who's so messed up? Who needs that kind of burden, right?

And then I think about what you said in your letter, and hope maybe I did _one_ good thing, if anything I said really did make a difference in your decision to get help. You and Sandy and Seth are the best people I know, Kirsten.

I'm not a wordsmith like your real son, so I probably can't explain how much you have meant to me over these last two years. But I'll try, because like you said, we shouldn't leave important things unsaid …

I've always had a hard time trusting people. I normally try not to let myself get close to anyone, because it's too hard when I lose them.

I guess you know I lost my mom to alcohol a long time ago. A long time before she left me with you guys. The thing is, I never expected another chance at having a real mom, but you changed that, Kirsten.

I know, like me, you don't let people into your life easily, but I don't think that's such a bad thing. Because when you do allow someone in, it's _special_ – it means something. Like I could look at the whole world, and know that of all the people in it, you once chose to let me inside your family. I guess the fact is, you made _me_ feel special, Kirsten.

You don't know how much that matters, unless you've never felt it.

You make a difference in people's lives. I see it in Sandy and Seth, too. That's why it's so important that you get better. And you can do that, Kirsten. You're in a very different place from my mom. You're one of the brightest, strongest people that I've ever met. And you've got the best support system in the world in Sandy and Seth. They're awesome.

And you've got me – if you still _want_ that once you understand I'm not who you signed up for. Or, I guess, kind of regardless… I promise you – and I don't make promises lightly – I'll _always_ be here for you. (Even if 'here' is not in Newport…)

Because one of the few things about me that I _know_ _is_ _real_ is how I feel about you.

You'll always be special to me. And I'll always love you.

And I don't want you to worry – there's nothing you said to me that needs forgiving. I've heard a lot worse, believe me.

After all, you did let me into your home… that's just the truth.

It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Always,

Ryan

>>>>>>>

Sandy answered his cell phone on the second ring. He was startled to hear her voice. Her words. He turned the car around, and headed back to Suriak. The stakes for tomorrow had just become a lot clearer, and they had work to do …

>>>>>>>

tbc

A/N2: Reviews appreciated – it's one small way to connect writer and reader, but it means so much... Again, thanks to those of you who have been so faithful with your words – I truly am grateful for the time you spend, and love to read your comments.


	7. Chapter 7

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: This is something of a segue, and rather short compared to most of my chapters. However, I'm traveling and the next section will take some time. Some things should not be rushed…

**>>>>>>>**

**Time: Uncertain…**

_The faces were not quite clear. Ryan felt like he had some type of filter over his eyes – like he wore contacts that had been smeared with grease. The men were big. Much bigger and older than he was, and they were far too close._

_He tried to move away, but his hand was shackled to something and he couldn't retreat. He heard their laughter, as his heart beat faster. He heard the door closing behind him. Strange, he thought the barrier between freedom and captivity should sound louder as it falls into place… He'd remembered it sounding much louder when he was in juvie. More metallic._

_He struggled to pull his hand from its padded restraint, but couldn't work it loose. This felt new, somehow. This soft restraint. _

_But not the rest. He knew the drill. Too soon, he'd have to strip, and submit to their inspection. His first step on the road to hell… He felt sick, and hot, and very scared. His breathing became more rapid and more shallow. _

"_Ryan," the guards said from far away. He was perplexed… they didn't use first names. He tried to respond, but couldn't manage. The faces came at him, distorted. He fought the restraint, but it held him fast._

_The voice grew louder, "Ryan." He knew he had to answer. He didn't have a choice – his days of choosing were in the past._

_He struggled harder, to no avail. He jumped as he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and sucked in his breath in alarm. He'd missed their movement toward him._

"_Ryan? Are you okay?" The voice was right on top of him._

_His eyes flew open, to see Sandy bending over him, his face concerned. Ryan tried to move, but his wrist was wound tightly in the sheet, and he had trouble extricating himself from the bedclothes to sit upright, disheveled. _

_His body clammy and breath erratic. His too familiar nightmare interrupted. _

**>>>>>>>**

**Time: Morning of Day 5**

Ryan struggled to focus as he rubbed the wrist that had been trapped, and flexed his tingling fingers. His guardian's face was overwritten with concern, as the man sat down on the bed beside him.

"Bad dreams?" his foster father asked, wrinkling his brow.

Ryan nodded, not wanting to elaborate. Still trying to make sense of time and place, he asked instead, "Did you just get home?"

Ryan watched a frown form and dissolve as Sandy looked at him closely, saying nothing for several seconds. "Sandy?" he prompted, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

His guardian put a hand against his back, as he finally responded, "You know you don't have to go it alone, right? That anytime you want to talk about what's going on in there …," Sandy moved his hand and ruffled Ryan's hair, "… I'm here for you…" The hand moved again to Ryan's back, where it rested warmly.

No way was Ryan going to talk about his nightmares. That was one burden he wasn't going to pile on top of all the others Sandy faced. One that he could keep to himself. He forced himself to smile a little, as he assured, "Thanks, but it's nothing. I'm okay."

He felt Sandy's hand rub across his back one last time before it fell away. In his world, it still felt somehow odd to be touched gently by a father-figure. He'd been so uncomfortable at first, finding almost any contact vaguely threatening, and an intrusion on his space. But now? He recognized an absence where Sandy's hand had been.

Another thing to miss…

Realizing his foster-father was speaking once again, he scrambled to tune into Sandy's words.

"Ryan, I'm sorry I didn't see you last night, but you were asleep when I got home, and I didn't want to wake you. But there's lots to talk about kid, and you know me. I do _love_ to talk."

Ryan scrunched his face, observing, "Seems to run in the Cohen DNA. What time is it, anyway?"

"Six AM. You've got exactly twenty minutes to get cleaned up, dressed, and in the kitchen."

"Huh?" Ryan managed, confused. He didn't remember any plans…

He saw his guardian glance at the clock on his nightstand before answering. "That's nineteen minutes, now. See you inside, okay?"

Ryan blinked, and answered, "If you say so." He glared at the clock, which read 6:01 AM, and looked longingly back at his pillows. His eyes felt heavy as he turned his head back to Sandy, who had risen from the bed. "Are you sure you don't wanna' talk with Seth? He's become quite the morning guy lately …"

"I'm sure. I wanna' talk with _you_, sunshine. Eighteen minutes and thirty seconds …"

Ryan groaned as he rose and padded to the shower, grabbing clothes en route. "Apples and trees…" he muttered, as Sandy chuckled and left the pool house, closing the door behind him. Ryan froze as the sound echoed in the silence – as he thought back to the sound of prison gates closing, and his own family, his own tree…

>>>>>>>

At 6:19AM, Ryan entered the kitchen, his hair still damp from his shower. He'd thrown on a blue button-down shirt over a white t-shirt, with good jeans and boots. If he needed to be more dressed up or dressed down, Sandy would just have to send him back with a little more information.

His foster father had changed out of sweats, and was now wearing chinos and a navy golf-shirt. He was sipping something out of a silver travel mug.

"Ryan. Just on time!" He held out a gold metallic mug for Ryan. "Here's your coffee – let's go!"

Ryan shook his head, more confused than ever. "Go where? What's going on, Sandy?"

Sandy smiled, as though there was nothing unnatural about this at all. He answered, "You. Me. Us. A little drive along the beach. Some breakfast. Some conversation … Come on, you're up. You're dressed. It'll be good for us."

Ryan tried to read Sandy's face, certain that he was up to something, and that the target of that _something_ was himself. But to be honest, on this side of his shower, spending some time with Sandy sounded a whole lot better than drifting back into another nightmare. Or nervously waiting for some response from Kirsten.

He took the travel mug that Sandy offered, "Okay, but don't ya' think it's a little too early for breakfast?"

"That's why we're gonna' take a drive first." Sandy motioned for Ryan to lead the way to the front door.

"Seth's still sleeping?" Ryan asked jealously as they passed the steps. He'd give anything to sink into the sleep of the innocent. To really rest, without the intrusion of guilt, or fear, or memories.

Sandy looked at his watch. "Don't worry, kid. He's gonna' have an early morning, too."

"Ya' think?"

The phone rang, as if on cue. Sandy made no move to answer it. He winked at Ryan, as the teenager held the door. "Trust me, kid. I know."

When Ryan's eyes sought clarification, Sandy patted his shoulder and said, "I'll explain later. But unless you want to play twenty questions with Seth, let's get out of here." Sandy bounded out the door.

Ryan heard Seth moving about upstairs. He raised his eyebrows and grimaced, "Right behind you."

Sandy climbed into the Rover, much to Ryan's relief. The BMW held too many memories of coming and of leaving.

>>>>>>>

Sandy glanced across at Ryan as they drove along the coast, wondering if they were doing the right thing. If what they had planned would reassure or traumatize the teen… _Desperate times_, he told himself. There was just so much this kid needed to hear, and start believing. The boy had exposed his heart to Kirsten – they would show him no less courage in return…

Ryan was staring out the passenger window, leaning back against the headrest. His face was only partially visible, with most of its bruises and now-healing scrapes turned away from Sandy's view. From here, the teenager's cheekbone and jaw line looked almost unblemished, and the eyelashes flicked over an unblackened eye. The only bruising on this angle of his face was almost hidden under blond fringe.

The teen held his coffee in his hands, but had not sipped from the cup for several minutes, as he stared trance-like at the passing scenery. Sandy knew the boy found comfort in his silence, but this was going to be a day for words. _Starting_ _now_.

"I saw Trey yesterday." Sandy watched out of the corner of his eye as Ryan clutched the mug, and straightened up in his seat. However, the teenager remained silent.

Sandy continued, "He showed me the statement he gave the police."

At this piece of news Ryan sucked in an unsteady breath and wrapped his arms around his mid section, one hand still gripping the coffee. He turned his head toward Sandy and swallowed before asking, "Did he say anything that would hurt Marissa?"

"Do you know how often you do that?" Sandy asked, glancing at Ryan.

The teenager furrowed his brow, as he looked back at Sandy. "Do what?" he asked, sounding baffled.

"Think first of how something will affect someone other than you."

Ryan ducked his head, and set his coffee in the cup holder as silence filled the car. Just as Sandy was sure he would get no response, Ryan shrugged, and asked again, "But did he? Say anything that would hurt Marissa?"

Lifting his eyebrows and moving his head back against the headrest, Sandy mentally added another instance to Ryan's selflessness tally. A tally that ran higher than it should, for reasons Sandy was only beginning to comprehend. He answered carefully, "I don't think anything Trey said particularly hurts or helps Marissa. His statement was fairly vague with respect to the shooting itself – but it was specific concerning who was responsible for the fight, and its escalation."

Sandy saw the sideways glance that Ryan gave him. "What did he say?" the teen asked hesitantly, as though not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Sandy moved his hand to clasp the boy's shoulder, as he responded, "He took full responsibility, Ryan." He let his hand linger for a long moment, as the teenager's eyes widened.

They blinked as Ryan seemed to consider what he had heard. At last the boy spoke, "What does that mean? For Trey?"

Shaking his head, Sandy confessed, "I'm not sure what it will mean for Trey. He didn't include anything about grabbing the telephone, or his intentions at that moment. But the ADA could still prosecute." He turned his head momentarily toward Ryan, surprised when the teenager chose to make direct eye contact. The blue eyes were dark, and searched his own for answers to questions that Ryan wouldn't ask.

Looking at his foster-son as steadily as safety would permit, Sandy continued, "But Ryan, the statement should go a long way toward ensuring that the ADA doesn't bring any charges against _you_. We should know more this afternoon when I meet with her."

"Did you get him to do that? Make that kind of statement?" The boy's voice sounded like he was trying to reconcile facts and expectations, when the two were wildly at odds with one another.

Sandy refocused on the road ahead, as he contemplated his encounter with the older Atwood brother yesterday, with all its twists and turns. He snorted softly as he offered Ryan the still-surprising truth, "No, he did that on his own."

The teenager leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. Sandy could see his shoulders rise and fall when he took several deep breaths, as though to steady himself. The boy needed a few minutes to consider what he'd just learned, so Sandy would not press him for further words just now. He tuned the radio station to soft jazz, and turned his attention to the highway, as he contemplated the day ahead.

>>>>>>>

Sandy glanced at the teen, who had drifted into sleep a half-hour ago. His steady breathing and relaxed posture had seemed peaceful – in stark contract to the fitful dreams he had interrupted earlier this morning. Sandy was tempted to continue driving, and allow the boy to slumber, but _they_ were waiting…

He pulled the Rover into the public beach access, and turned off the engine. Turning to Ryan, he saw the boy's eyelashes flutter, as the cessation of movement registered, and the teenager awakened.

He smiled at a sleepy Ryan, and asked, "Hungry yet?"

The boy's face scrunched up, as he rubbed it with one hand. The other hand massaged his neck, undoubtedly stiff from its angle while the boy slept. The teenager's voice was thick as he responded, "Not really…"

Opening the door, Sandy laughed, "Yeah, me neither. So, how about a walk? Work up an appetite?"

Ryan's eyes were still focusing, but he mumbled, "Whatever. Your call." He fumbled with the door handle, and slid out compliantly.

Sandy watched as his foster-son walked toward the water, and then stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Ryan's voice chided, "Walking requires _movement_, Sandy. Left foot, right foot…"

"Coming," he responded, as he caught up with Ryan, placing a hand against the boy's back as he drew beside him. "Let's go this way," he suggested, steering the teenager north along the coast. Toward what waited for them both…

_>>>>>>>_

_tbc_

A/N2: Reviews greatly appreciated. And once more, so many thanks to those of you who have taken your time to send your thoughts and comments – it _matters_! I 'listen' to each one, and learn…


	8. Chapter 8

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: Sigh… I suppose this is now AU.

**>>>>>>>**

**Time: Morning of Day 5**

The pounding surf and the lonely cry of seagulls split the morning stillness, as Sandy surveyed his surroundings. Soon more people would arrive, but for now, Ryan and he shared this isolated seascape with only a few fishermen and a couple of joggers.

As he walked north along the Pacific, Sandy sensed the renewal he always associated with mornings at the shore. The sand appeared smooth and unblemished, as the tides had erased and washed clean any scars from yesterday. The waves rolled infinitely toward the shore, and back out again, unstoppable and free. Eternal. Here, he felt his spirit nurtured. His equilibrium restored. He glanced across at Ryan, hoping the boy might find renewal, too.

The teenager's gaze was focused out over the Pacific, but he appeared to be concentrating on something other than the view. The boy was predictably quiet, his only visible language the intermittent crinkle of blond eyebrows, and the constant kneading of one arm while he walked.

While he was sure Ryan would prefer the quiet, the boy was struggling on so many levels. As his parent, Sandy ruefully admitted he was still learning. But this much he knew – sometimes it's a parent's job to ignore what your child wants, and give him what he needs. And Ryan needed words…

"Care to share?" he finally asked his foster-son.

Ryan jerked his head, almost startled, and bit his lip. "Sorry. I was just thinking about Kirsten."

Sandy thought again how Ryan's eyes were so much more expressive than his words, providing his strongest clues to the boy's hidden thoughts and feelings. This morning, their blue depths were teeming with anxiety.

Sighing, Sandy answered, "I promised we'd talk more about Kirsten, and we will, Ryan. Like I said on the phone last evening, she made it absolutely clear to me and to the counselors that you were _hers_, Ryan. Trust me, kid – she's not about to let you go. But can we hold that discussion for a little while? Just until a little later this morning?"

Ryan nodded his acquiescence, but frowned. He looked sideways at his guardian, and asked softly, "You want to talk more about Trey, don't you?"

"I think I _have_ to." Sandy hoped the teenager would allow the topic to stay open. He was sure he was reaching his foster son's limits regarding Trey, but Ryan needed to hear what he had to say.

Ryan's head ducked down, and then rose, as the boy took a deep breath and asked, "Are you … _disappointed_ … that I don't want to see him? Trey?"

"Disappointed? Absolutely not." Sandy stopped walking, waiting for a moment to see if Ryan would do the same. When the teenager halted, and turned to him, Sandy continued. "When or if you choose to see Trey is _entirely_ up to you, Ryan. I'll support whatever you want to do, with this stipulation – I want to be with you if you do decide to see him."

The teenager stared at him, brows slightly drawn together, as though trying to read behind his words. At last the boy spoke hesitantly, "Then I don't understand. What more is there to say?"

Sandy noted Ryan's neat side-step of his stipulation. They could deal with that later, though, because that was not the conversation Sandy had in mind for this morning.

Trying to keep his voice steady, Sandy answered, "I want to talk about my role in this mess, Ryan. You refused to hear me out on this earlier, but I need you to listen now…" he saw the boy's head dip, as his body stiffened. "Ryan?"

Sandy waited for a moment, before prompting, "Please?"

The teen's eyes lifted, and Sandy could detect the smallest movement of eyebrows as Ryan breathed, "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking, Ryan," Sandy assured the teenager, reaching out to squeeze one shoulder briefly before he spoke again. Rewarded with a fleeting glance, resigned though it appeared, he plunged ahead.

"I should have paid attention to what you were saying, Ryan, when you tried to tell me that you didn't want your brother in Newport." He held up a hand to forestall Ryan's protest, as he pressed ahead, "That was a mistake on so many levels. First, because I'm always asking you to talk to me, and yet when you did, I didn't listen. Next, and this flows from my not listening, I made bad assumptions. I thought you were probably worried about the expense, or that Trey's presence would be an imposition for our family. And I assumed if it weren't for those considerations, you'd really like to have your brother near you. I have to admit, at the time I honestly thought I knew better than you did what was best for both of you."

Sandy paused, shaking his head in self-reproach. He snorted disgustedly, as he made his last confession, "Then, to make matters even worse, I didn't play the parental role I should have once Trey was in Newport."

Ryan stood so still that Sandy wasn't sure he breathed. At last the boy raised his head and looked at his guardian with unsteady eyes. "You didn't know Trey," he said simply.

"That's my point, Ryan. I _didn't_ know Trey. I should have heeded the advice of the one person who did. You." He looked at his foster son, his face contrite, as he said softly, "I'm so sorry, son, that I didn't listen. I hope you can forgive me."

The boy's eyes blinked in surprise, as he turned suddenly away to stare out at the sea. "But the whole thing with Trey was _my_ fault, Sandy. He was my family, and my responsibility."

Sandy grimaced, as he heard the words he had expected. His foster son continued to gaze out across the Pacific, his arms now folded across his chest.

He took a few steps closer, so that he stood behind Ryan, and said firmly, "It doesn't work that way, Ryan. I _forced_ him into your life – into all our lives. I'm the parent – I'm your guardian. I should have been vigilantly protecting your welfare – looking out for you. But I didn't do that – I left you to deal with Trey on your own, and even if things had not turned out like they did, that was a _huge_ mistake on my part. You're seventeen, kid. And that's far too young to assume responsibility for someone as complicated and disruptive as Trey. You needed me to do my job, and the fact is – I didn't. I let you down."

While Sandy spoke, Ryan's head turned back slightly toward his guardian. Sandy could see the blackened eye from this angle, its eyelid closed. He hoped Ryan had not closed his mind as well… He stepped up beside the boy, placing his hand on the teen's back as he said softly, "As much as I wish it were possible, I can't change what I did, Ryan, or what I didn't do. But I've learned from my mistakes, and I promise you I'll do my utmost _never_ to repeat them going forward."

Sandy felt Ryan's weight shift slightly, as the boy angled his body a few degrees in his direction. The blue eyes opened, and glanced quickly at him, before focusing somewhere past Sandy's shoulder. Ryan pointed out, "You didn't decide to confront Trey. Or refuse to back down when he pulled a gun…"

Sandy dropped his hand and blew out a loud breath. "You don't want to argue relative responsibility with me, kid. You're going to _lose_ that argument…"

Ryan blinked, as though confused. Then his expression settled into skepticism.

Sandy reacted, "Look, I'm not trying to insult your intelligence, Ryan. I'm not saying that you didn't make some big mistakes, too. But the fact is, if I had done my job, either Trey wouldn't have been in Newport in the first place, or I would have been scrutinizing his actions. And I would have been calling him on any misconduct. That job would _not_ have fallen to you."

"But you didn't know the stuff he'd done. I never told … that is, I didn't come to you. I mean, you know, about Trey's behavior." Ryan's eyes met his for one long moment, before the boy dropped them repentantly.

"Yeah, that much I _do_ know. But I also know I didn't ask the questions I should have been asking. For example, about what happened at the charity auction. And I promise you, we're going to talk about _all_ that, kid. But for right now, here's what I'd like you to understand. You can count on my being much more _present_ going forward."

Ryan grimaced, "So, that means more questions?"

Sandy shrugged, "That means I'm going to be watching out for you – for both of you guys – a lot more closely. Be available whenever you need me. And yeah, probably ask a lot more questions. Unless…" he let his voice trail off.

"Unless what?"

"What do you think?" Sandy prodded.

Ryan frowned, and scraped his boot in the sand. "Unless I come to you first?" he asked.

Sandy pursed his lips, and nodded. He reached out and patted Ryan's shoulder, as he smiled, "I'm thinking that'd be good, kid. For both of us… I'd like to think I could count on that."

Ryan nodded, drawing his lips into a line, before mumbling "Understood."

"Good," Sandy smiled approvingly at his foster son, although he recognized that the teenager's acquiescence wasn't absolute. But he was pleased that the teen had listened to his confession. And hoped that over time, Ryan would release some of the responsibility he hoarded.

"Let's go, kid," Sandy encouraged, as he struck out north once more. Ryan hesitated only a second before he fell in step, looking across at his guardian as they walked.

The teenager's eyes blinked, as he seemed to muster up his courage. His voice sounded uncertain as he spoke again, "You haven't … I mean, you've never set any penalty…" He raised his eyebrows as his voice trailed off.

Sandy shook his head, and then caught Ryan's eyes with his, as he said gently, "I've been watching you beat yourself up for days, Ryan. I've felt like I ought to save you from yourself – that I should try to lesson your pain, rather than add to it."

Ryan frowned, and averted his eyes, but said nothing.

Sandy sighed, sensing that this kid would continue eating himself alive with guilt. He wondered if it would not be wiser to impose some sort of penalty he could control. _Maybe_ it could even work to Ryan's advantage…

Hesitating just a moment, Sandy offered, "But don't worry, Ryan. I'm not letting you off without some form of atonement. Let's talk about a piece of that now."

The teenager observed unhappily, "It sounds like you're planning to do a _lot_ of talking…"

Sandy glanced across at his foster-son, and said lightly, "Yeah? Well, consider that the first part of your penance, kid. Lots of talking coming your way today…"

A small grimace crossed the boy's face, as he responded, "Cruel, but I guess not exactly _unusual_…"

Sandy laughed, and raised his eyebrows, "You haven't heard the next part yet, my friend. Ryan's Penance, Part Two. I want you to promise me you'll _listen_."

The teen scanned Sandy's face, uncertain. "Just listen?" he asked, his voice flavored with skepticism.

Keeping his voice light, Sandy cautioned, "It might prove harder than you think…"

The boy drew his lips together, as he walked in silence.

Sandy edged closer to the teen as he asked more seriously, "Will you promise me you'll listen, Ryan? No matter how uncomfortable the words may make you? I mean _really_ listen…"

Ryan halted, and Sandy did the same. The boy's blue eyes met his guardian's, as he swallowed hard. Blond head nodding faintly, the teenager accepted Sandy's sentence, "Okay. I promise."

Sandy smiled as he threw an arm across Ryan's shoulders and propelled the boy forward once more. "Well, that works for me, kid. 'Cause one thing I _know_ about you – you don't make promises lightly…"

Sandy felt the teenager's shoulders register shock as he recognized his words. He could almost hear the boy's mind racing…

>>>>>>>

Ryan had been off-balance all morning, but with Sandy's line about promises, he'd crossed into uneasiness.

Sandy must have talked to Kirsten about his email, but no one was saying anything to him about what he'd tried to tell her. That couldn't be good… And yet, Sandy hadn't sounded disturbed. Could that mean they understood his fears, and forgave his lies? That they _still_ wanted him around? Or was it just that they somehow still didn't get how screwed up he was?

He guessed that could be part of all the stuff Sandy wanted to discuss. But as much as he knew they needed to have that conversation, the thought of it frightened him. What would they want, once they understood his demons? _Not_ _knowing_, he could hold onto hope. But knowing could be so _final_…

His unease only heightened as they continued their walk. Sandy stayed silent, allowing Ryan almost too much time to think. The fears he harbored pulled at him like undercurrents, the weight of Sandy's arm still across his shoulders an anchor in their wake. Acting like his lifeline. Keeping him from drifting out too deep.

Reaching a point where the beach dead-ended into a rocky butte, he assumed they'd turn around and head back. Instead, Sandy insisted that they climb an almost hidden path twisting steeply up from the shore. Not feeling like he was in any position to protest, he submissively followed Sandy up the winding pathway.

At the top of the path, along the ridgeline of the rise, they came upon a wall with a metal barred security gate blocking their way forward. The gate was complete with cameras and an electronic keypad, and was posted with serious looking 'Private Property' and 'Violators Will Be Prosecuted' signs. Ryan took one look at the barrier, and turned back toward the beach, but his foster father unaccountably lingered behind.

After only a few seconds Sandy called for him to come back. He obeyed reluctantly, only to find the gate standing open, and Sandy motioning for him to pass through. Eyeing his guardian dubiously, Ryan complied. Sandy closed the gate behind them, the sound of the metal bars falling securely into place causing Ryan to flinch, and catch his breath. God, how he hated that sound…

Ryan found himself following Sandy down a set of stairs carved into the rock, as he observed his guardian closely.

"So where are we, anyway?" he finally asked his foster father.

Sandy didn't slow down, as he cryptically threw back over his shoulder, "Where we'll be having breakfast."

"Well, _that_ certainly clears things up," Ryan muttered.

"Glad I could help," Sandy said too cheerfully for Ryan's liking. He rolled his eyes at Sandy's back, but decided against asking again for information. He figured he'd find out soon enough…

>>>>>>>

The stairs ended in a thicket of pine and palm trees, with dense tropical foliage blocking any view of the Pacific. Ryan stayed a few feet behind his guardian, as Sandy struck out on a pine-straw covered pathway leading to the shore. When Sandy halted, Ryan pulled up beside him, awestruck. The beach here was completely deserted, with soft grass and flower beds reaching out to meet the shore. Separating the beach from the greenery, three or four irregularly spaced rows of palm trees swayed in the breeze, creating a thick canopy of shade and shadow. Barely visible under the palms, teak tables and chairs were grouped invitingly.

To the right, the beach seemed to stretch for at least a mile, while to the left some large boulders acted like a screen, isolating maybe three hundred feet of beach from easy view. Ryan followed Sandy as he nipped left around the boulders. In the alcove, a palm tree jutted nearly horizontally from the shore, while a tumble of boulders from the butte spilled into the Pacific, perfect for climbing or sitting on.

The same rows of palms separated the shore from the lush vegetation beyond the sand, and the private alcove held its own table and chairs. However, unlike the other ones which had been visible, this table was surrounded with tubs of ice containing juices, water, yogurt, cheeses, and milk. On the table, baskets of bread and pastries, and bowls of papaya, oranges, melon, grapes, and berries completed the offering. Plates, silverware, napkins, and glasses were arranged on a separate serving stand, together with vases of fresh flowers, and coffee, tea, and condiments.

Ryan watched as Sandy rubbed his hands together, and grinned approvingly. "Sometimes, you just gotta' love California…"

Ryan stared at the fare spread out before him, thinking that he couldn't eat a bite. His stomach felt like someone was grinding glass inside it. He tried to think of some positive response, when a movement around one of the boulders caught his eye. He blinked several times to ensure he was seeing clearly, as Seth ambled into the alcove.

The dark-haired teenager complained, "Father, not that I don't enjoy being out of school as long as possible, but don't you think you should have called to say you'd be a little tardy? You know, so I wouldn't worry? I mean, come on – you're always telling us that's part of what _our_ cell phones are for."

Sandy raised his eyebrows, "So you _do_ pay attention to what I say? Useful knowledge, son. Thanks for sharing."

"Uh, don't get too comfortable with that thought, Dad," Seth warned, before turning to Ryan. "Hey, buddy. Good walk with the paternal unit? Did he keep up his end of the conversation?"

Ryan gave his friend a half-smile, as he answered affably, "Funny thing – your dad uses only about half as many words as you, dude. And yet, I actually understand about twice as much of what he's saying…"

Seth frowned, "So you're saying you only understand what? Like a quarter of what I say?"

"That'd be pretty much on the high end…" Ryan smirked, glancing at his guardian, who had come up beside him.

Sandy patted him on the arm and grinned. "That much, hum? Damned _impressive_, kid."

"You're both hilarious. Only without being, you know… _funny_," Seth scoffed.

Ryan found himself smiling a little more, much to his surprise. Seth's presence, though unexpected, was very welcome. Maybe Seth's waterfalls of words would take the focus off of him. Just as he was even warming up to the idea of breakfast, he noticed the look that passed between Seth and Sandy, before their eyes fell on him. He suddenly had the sense that he was about to _be_ breakfast.

His comfort level dropped instantly into the danger zone, as he edged back a few steps, and asked, "What's going on?"

Seth's face contorted, "Welcome to the newest form of Cohen family gathering. What we like to call … an 'Intervention'."

Ryan's eyes grew wide, as Seth's words registered. Did they think he was on drugs? Had they realized how far he had tripped out the other day, and made more wrong assumptions? Or did they think the whole thing with Trey was alcohol or drug induced? Or was it because of the email to Kirsten? He felt his breathing quicken, as he struggled to respond.

"Look, I don't know what you guys are thinking, but I swear to you, I'm not using anything…" he managed, forcing himself to meet Sandy's eyes while he spoke.

He thought he saw a surprised look cross his guardian's face, as Sandy closed the space separating them. Ryan resisted the urge to retreat further, ducking his head instead. Assuming a position which felt a little safer.

His guardian assured him, "Ryan, we _know_ that. That's not what this is about."

Ryan looked up at Sandy, comforted that he wasn't being accused of something he didn't do. But he also knew he had done plenty they could call him on. That he should have to answer for. Only why here? And why both of them?

Sandy's eyes seemed to reach out to Ryan, as he elaborated, "But we do want to have your full attention, and make sure you listen to what we have to say."

Ryan felt like his lungs had thick rubber bands wrapped around them, keeping them from expanding like they should. He had no idea what Seth and Sandy wanted to say to him, but he didn't think he wanted to know. He ducked his head once more, and backed a few steps away from Sandy. "I don't want to do this, guys. I'd just like to just go home, okay?" He glanced at Sandy.

His guardian's eyes were soft, as he said gently, "You promised you'd listen, Ryan."

As if he needed the reminder, Ryan thought. He made himself look up at Sandy. His voice felt like it was stuck inside his throat as he spoke, "I know…" Ryan closed his eyes, as he battled with his demons. But he didn't have the strength…

As fear won out, Ryan hung his head, "It won't be the first time I've let you down." He bit his lip as he turned quickly around, determined that he was leaving.

Only _Kirsten_ blocked his exit.

Déjà vu, he thought, as he stood frozen in place. He felt himself flushing, as her eyes traveled up and down his body, before settling on his face. God, what must she be thinking? He stared at the sand, looking up at her through his eyelashes, embarrassed. Anxious. And yet, it was so goodto see her.

Ryan watched as a slow smile lit Kirsten's face. She then cocked her head to the side, and held out her arms for him to step inside. He swallowed, thinking how often she spoke without words. And yet, how much she said.

Ryan thought of all the reasons he should resist her invitation, but not one of them outweighed the strength of her smile, or the thought of her touch. Ignoring every instinct to flee, he surrendered to her embrace. The reward outweighed the risk.

She seemed thinner, and more fragile, but she hugged him tightly, whispering "I've missed you so much, Ryan."

"Suriak," he managed to say. Not a question, but a statement. One that Kirsten confirmed with a tiny nod of her head. He stepped back from her arms, and glanced at Sandy and Seth. "All of you?" he asked. When he saw three heads nod, he shook his head, bewildered. "But why?"

Kirsten said quietly, "You had the courage to speak up at my intervention. You knew how important it was for me to understand that I had a problem, and that I needed help. I've got to admit, I never appreciated how _powerful_ a forum like that could be. But I'm convinced that it helped me see a truth that I might never have recognized on my own. That's why we wanted to approach you this way."

Before Ryan could say anything, he heard Sandy's voice behind him, "We're concerned, Ryan, that you don't understand your place inside our family – how much you mean to each of us. We each simply want to share our thoughts with you."

Kirsten tagged in, "I think, if you are willing to give this a chance, you may be surprised, in a very _good_ way…"

Ryan wasn't sure he could define his feelings at this moment. These people mystified him – he went after his brother like Cain after Abel, and instead of hammering him for his assorted sins, they wanted to tell him how much he _means_ to them? Were they crazy? Was it because of what he wrote?

He took a deep breath, relieved his lungs were working better. "Look, guys – I'm sorry for everything I've done that made you think you needed to do … _this_. If this is all because of the letter, maybe I can explain it better, but I'm really sorry." He split his gaze between Kirsten and Sandy as he apologized.

His foster parents moved toward him. Kirsten's wide blue eyes sparkled with moisture as she told him softly, "Honey, I'm so glad you wrote to me. Your words were beautiful, and amazingly honest. And very powerful…" She tilted her head at him and smiled, brushing his face with her palm, before dropping her hand to rest lightly on his arm.

He blinked as he stared at his foster mother, his own eyes misty. He felt Sandy's hand on his back, as his foster father stepped up beside him. "I'm proud of you, Ryan. It took a lot of courage to expose your feelings like you did." Sandy's voice was low, and warm.

Ryan closed his eyes, drawing his arms tightly around his waist as he fought back his urge to flee. He felt his guardians' hands as they both remained connected, silently lending him strength. _Maybe_ he could do this. Keep his promise to Sandy. Not let Kirsten down. Not run away from Seth.

But there could be no more hiding his own internal truths – he owed them at least that much. Because they knew only his façade – and how much differently would they feel about the kid underneath? What would _he_ mean to them? _Whoever_ the hell he was…

He could feel his heart beat wildly inside his chest as he looked up and whispered, "So, how is this gonna' work?"

>>>>>>>

Sandy squeezed his shoulder, before dropping his hand. His guardian then stepped up beside his wife, smiling warmly at Kirsten. Ryan watched their hands meet, and their fingers intertwine, as Sandy answered his question, "Seth will go first, because he's going back to school. Seth?"

He heard Seth speaking from the direction of the table, "Yeah, I'm the lead-off swatter."

Ryan turned to face the other teen. "_Batter_, Seth," Ryan corrected without thinking.

He glanced a little apprehensively at his foster parents before stepping away from them and walking over to where Seth was sitting. As he grabbed the back of the chair opposite his friend, leaning against it for support, he was surprised to see the teen stuffing the last bite of a cream-cheese covered bagel into his mouth. Seth must have been eating while Kirsten and Sandy were speaking. How could he _do_ that? Ryan hadn't intended to glare at his friend, but Seth's reaction told him that he must have.

The dark-haired boy chewed quickly, gulping his last mouthful and looking like he'd been caught cheating on a test. Seth mopped at his mouth with a cloth napkin, and explained, "Sorry, man, but my stomach was screaming. Obey your stomach, dude – treat it like you want it to treat you, 'cause a happy tummy is your best friend."

Seth stopped his rambling abruptly, saying, "Scratch that, man, 'cause it's so not true. Because _you're_ the best friend anyone could ever have. I mean, before you came to live with us, my life pretty much sucked. There wasn't anyone in Newport that I could even talk to, dude. My lot in life was pretty much being the guy the jocks liked to pick on, and the girls ignored. Like, you remember how Summer didn't even know I existed. And then you showed up, and everything changed.

"I pretty much owe all the changes for the good to you, man. Like, for the first time ever, someone _got_ me. And you listen, buddy – even when I ramble, which I know I do sometimes. Well, maybe most of the time, but still, you listen."

Ryan felt a little embarrassed to hear Seth's words, especially the part about listening. Because the fact was he tuned out tons of the stuff Seth said. It also felt weird with Sandy and Kirsten listening, but at least it was nothing that his friend hadn't said to him before. He moved around the chair and sat down as the Seth paused, wondering if he was supposed to say something.

Luckily, his friend continued, "But that's not the most important thing, Ryan. You taught me all kinds of cool stuff, too. And I don't mean just the really good stuff like, you know, our little chats about S-E-X."

"Seth," Ryan quickly growled, glancing at his foster-parents to gage their reaction to Seth's slip.

"We _can_ spell, son," Sandy cautioned, while Kirsten pressed her face into her husband's shoulder, groaning.

Seth had seen the same reaction. "Yeah, moving on…" The lanky teenager turned his attention back to Ryan. "It's just that you've, you know – been around, seen things, done things. You _know_ stuff, dude. You're like the coolest guy I know, and yet you still hang out with me. And you make me better – you help me see things differently. See other possibilities. Your just being around gives me confidence I never felt before. Like, I always know you'll have my back. That you're here for me, man. And that's awesome." Seth smiled earnestly, before continuing.

"And I know I can be a little self-absorbed – well, maybe a _lot_ self-absorbed some – okay, more like most – of the time. And I'm sorry when that translates into not respecting your rights or your wishes. It's just that when you don't tell me what you want or what you like, and there's any type of void, I'm gonna' fill it with my own stuff. I'm pretty much a void-filler…" Seth paused, and frowned. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Rarely," Ryan muttered, to cover his embarrassment.

For once Seth seemed to pay attention, as his eyebrows drew together. One hand formed an 'L' with thumb and forefinger, and the dark-haired teen used it expressively to emphasize his point. "Then let me rephrase. What I'm trying to say here is that I hope you let me know what you'd like more often. Like, I'm glad that you've started letting me know when I cross your lines, man – and I hope you keep doing that, except when you're telling me, please bear in mind that I'm pretty much anti-pain." Seth rubbed his shoulder, as though recalling one of Ryan's more direct nonverbal-grams.

As Ryan wondered what his guardians thought of _that_ little revelation, Seth hastened forward, "But seriously, I'd do _anything_ to prove how much having you in the family means to me. I'll turn over a new leaf. A whole pile of leaves, if that's what it'd take to convince you how much having you with us means to me. Like, we could have 'Ryan' days where you'd get your way all day. Or we can come up with some other arrangement – what I'm saying is that I'm ready to find something that works for you, man.

"Because here's the bottom line – I always dreamed about having a brother, and your being part of our family made that dream come true. Although, I mean, I know that you don't actually call me brother, but I can live with that. Like I said, whatever works for you, man – that's cool. But I just want you to know that for me, things like support, respect, honor, trust, loyalty … those things are a lot more important than shared DNA. So, don't wig out, Ryan, but the fact is I couldn't love you anymore if we were, you know, way more related."

Seth's eyes locked onto Ryan's, their liquid brown honesty unmistakable.

Ryan blinked, surprised. While what Seth said wasn't anything that Ryan hadn't pretty much known before, he had not been prepared for how much hearing the words spoken aloud, particularly in front of Sandy and Kirsten, somehow heightened their impact. He felt compelled to offer Seth something honest in return. Starting with the truth about his deepest fear.

He leaned forward, and asked quietly, "But what if I hurt you one day, Seth? You've seen me go off, man." He saw Sandy start to move toward them, before Seth held up a hand to stop him.

Seth crossed his arms, and stared straight across at Ryan. "You'd _never_ hurt me, Ryan."

"How can you be so sure?" Ryan asked, startled a little by the conviction in his friend's response.

Seth spoke with utter confidence. "Because, dude, I know _you_."

Ryan shook his head, baffled by Seth's blind faith. A faith he didn't share. "Well, that's more than _I_ know…" He glanced up at his foster-parents, to make sure they were listening. Hoping they would understand his fear.

He couldn't read their faces, but he did see something else. His guardians stood side by side, speaking a silent language comprised of nothing more than glances, intertwined fingers, and gentle touches. A language that Ryan knew had been missing lately from their repertoire. It was good to see it back, even though he was sure they were still rediscovering some of their 'words'.

He felt comforted somehow, as he turned back to Seth. The other teenager was watching him closely. Waiting for him to focus. Wanting something more. He couldn't share Seth's confidence in his better angels, but there was something else he could share with Seth. A different form of comfort.

Ryan drew a deep breath, before offering, "Seth, just so you know, man – I really don't mind that you call me 'brother', because I know you _mean_ something when you use the term. But you've got to understand – for me, the word 'brother' doesn't have such great connotations right now."

Ryan watched Seth's eyebrows raise and lower, a less-bushy imitation of his father. The curly head nodded slightly, looking a little saddened. Ryan hastened to explain, "But Seth, you're my best friend – and I've never had one of those before. For me, for right this minute, that's _better_ than having a brother."

The corners of Seth's mouth turned up slightly, as the boy tried to smile. Ryan hesitated just a second, steeling himself to speak a truth he hadn't voiced, but that Seth surely knew. "And trust me, Seth. For me to say I love you like a best friend means a hell of a lot more than my saying I love you like a brother. Because the fact is I'm not feeling a whole lot of brotherly love these days… I need to keep that separate right now." He stopped, and swallowed, adding, "Just … just give me some time, okay?"

Seth nodded, and then really smiled, showing his dimples. His smile rose, and settled in his brown eyes, as he answered, "That works for me, Ryan. _For now_. You, brother. Me, best friend. Kind of the best of both worlds, dude."

Ryan smiled back. "Yeah, I guess it kinda' is."

>>>>>>>

Although Seth protested, Sandy and Kirsten sent him back home to school, saying that they wanted to speak with Ryan alone. While some part of Ryan would miss the support he knew Seth offered, he was relieved that his friend would not be there for what would come next. It would be easier to talk to his guardians without worrying about Seth's reaction to things that might be said.

Once Seth departed, Sandy and Kirsten led Ryan out to the palm tree jutting horizontally from the sand. Kirsten sat down, and patted the space to her left, indicating that Ryan should join her. Sandy moved slightly away from them, where the trunk rose higher off the sand. He leaned sideways against the trunk, so that he looked down at Ryan and Kirsten.

Ryan turned to Kirsten when she touched his hand. "I'm going next, honey, because I can't wait another minute to talk to you. I wanted to call you last night, but I was afraid that it would be too easy to misunderstand one another over the telephone. I wanted to be able to touch you. To see your eyes, and make sure you saw mine."

Ryan felt his ears burning, as he thought again of what he'd said in his letter. He felt foolish, and very young. He clenched his jaws, and made himself look her in the eyes. She deserved that, no matter how embarrassed he was. "I understand."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, that you had to wait all these days. And I'm even sorrier that I haven't made it absolutely clear to you just how much you mean to me. I hate knowing that you wondered for even an instant whether I'd want you to stay with us. I mean, Ryan, I think of you as mine – I wish I'd thought to tell you that. I guess … I just assumed you knew…"

Ryan bit his lip, hard. He wanted to believe her words, but she, like Seth, had ignored his demons. He started to explain his fears, but she squeezed his hand, and shook her head. "I'd like you to listen first, Ryan," she said, her voice gently insistent. "Before you say anything, okay?"

He stared at her hand on his, as she pressed her fingers between his own, like roots sinking deeply into soil. He slowly nodded his affirmation.

Satisfied, she wound her fingers tighter around his as she said, "I want you to know that I think of you as my _son_, in every way that matters to me. And I'm not _about_ to let you go, Ryan, no matter what. "

She bounced the hand she held, as though signaling the importance of the words to follow. "I want you to understand that I love you _unconditionally_. That my feelings for you are not based on how good you are, or how well you do in school, or how well you blend into Newport. Or how good a friend you are to Seth. You don't have to _earn_ a place in my heart, or in our family, Ryan. That's not how it works, honey. The simple fact is, you're part of us now. We're just not _complete_ without you anymore."

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, as he heard words he'd only fantasized about. God, he wished they could be true, but he knew she still hadn't seen inside him. She couldn't have, he thought bleakly. He shook his head, unable to form the words he had to say.

She frowned, misinterpreting his silence, as she said hesitantly, "It's no wonder you have doubts about my feelings. I'm thinking now about the mixed messages I've been sending this past year. Can we talk about that?"

Ryan looked at her, thrown further off-balance by what she'd just said. "I don't know what you mean," he responded, his voice not deserting him like it had before, on the _other_ topic. The one that scared him so much more.

She looked at him gently, her eyes soft. "For instance, when I found out you were dating Lindsay, I acted more like my father than I care to think about – with you and with Lindsay. And then I wasn't there for you when she left so suddenly – I knew that you were hurting, but I allowed myself to be distracted by other things."

"But I didn't tell you about Lindsay, until you…" He broke off, embarrassed to think about her walking in on their half-naked embrace. "I mean, I shouldn't have withheld the truth. And I certainly understand that you had a lot more important things to deal with than my stuff." He looked down at his feet, and scuffing the sand.

Kirsten's reaction was swift, as she leapt up and circled in front of him, sitting on her heels in the sand, with her hands resting on his knees. He found himself staring down into her wide blue eyes, as she reached up to stroke his hair. Her voice reminded him of maple syrup, sweet and strong at the same time, as she said, "Ryan, sweetheart – _nothing_ is more important than the welfare of one of my sons! Or, at least it _shouldn't_ be."

Startled by the force of her reaction, he averted his eyes from her face, and stammered the only thing he could think of to say. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, grabbing his hands in hers as she stood up. "No, honey. _I'm_ the one who should apologize."

She dropped his hands, as she sat back down beside him, sliding one arm around his waist. He felt her hand under his chin, as she gently steered his face toward hers. She lowered her hand slowly, as though waiting to make sure he wouldn't look away. She tilted her head, pain evident on her face and in her eyes, as she said softly, "I'm sorry for all the ways I failed you this year. Not standing up to my father for being so hateful to you. Not watching out for you when Trey came to Newport. But especially the alcohol, Ryan. God, I am so sorry I let you down that way, after all you've lived through." She stopped, and swiped at her eyes, before she continued speaking.

"And no matter how generous you are with your forgiveness, I know it must have hurt to hear my words at the intervention." The hand at his waist slid up to the center of his back, as she said softly, "Ryan, you said my letting you into our family was the best thing that ever happened to you. Well, it works two ways, sweetheart. Because the fact is, your saying 'yes' to my invitation was the best thing that ever happened to our family."

He blinked, and looked away. She was talking to the _someone else_ he'd role-played, wasn't she? Because how could those words really be for him? And what did she mean she'd let him down? Didn't she get what was important? They'd fed him, clothed him, educated him. And kept him safe from pain…

She touched his arm with her other hand, as she asked, "Do you understand what I'm saying, Ryan?"

He turned his eyes to hers, not sure how to respond. But he had to answer her question. She was waiting.

"Some things, maybe. But not really everything," he finally answered truthfully. Seeing the troubled look she gave him, he took a breath, and tried to explain. "I mean, all that stuff about letting me down? Kirsten, I don't _expect_ anything more from you guys. What you've already done for me is way more than I deserve. I mean, honestly, you guys have given me so much – you opened up your home, and gave me a safe place to stay when I had nowhere else to go, and no one to turn to. That's more than I ever dreamed of having. So, you don't have to worry, okay?"

Ryan saw the look Kirsten shot her husband, but had no clue what she was saying.

"Can we just stop?" he asked, afraid that he'd said something wrong. That if they continued, he'd say something worse.

Sandy spoke up, shaking his head, "I'm thinking this conversation is way overdue. And if I didn't realize how much we needed to talk before, I do now, Ryan. So, sorry, but no reprieve, son."

Ryan felt his body stiffen as he saw the deep concern etched on Sandy's face. How would that face appear when Ryan summoned up the courage to reveal the truth? Would it reflect repulsion? Or disappointment? Or maybe something else?

Sandy's hand grazed his shoulder, bringing him back to the moment, as the senior Cohen offered, "But let's take a break, shall we? I could use some juice, before all the ice melts." Ryan saw the glance that passed between his foster-parents, certain their secret language was re-establishing itself. He might be clueless, but they seemed to recognize one another's 'words'.

Kirsten nodded her agreement, and smiled kindly at Ryan, brushing his face with her fingers before heading back toward the table.

Ryan closed his eyes for a few seconds. He snorted as he stood up, thinking he could use something a lot stronger than juice right now.

As though reading his mind, Sandy smiled, "Forget it, kid – you're seventeen, and this is a rehab center."

"Right," Ryan grimaced, watching Kirsten sink into one of the teak chairs.

Wondering for the millionth time how Sandy _did_ that.

_>>>>>>>_

_t__bc_

A/N2: While I had planned one very long chapter, I decided Sandy was right – let's take a break here. There will be at least one more long chapter, and likely an epilogue to come.

A/N3: Reviews are greatly appreciated – I love the connection between reader and writer. To everyone who has generously given their time to review in the past, many thanks. And a special thanks to those of you who have been so loyal with your feedback. I listen…


	9. Chapter 9

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay? (Fine – maybe it's become more than a few pages.)

A/N: FYI -- Hmmm – turns out I was a bit optimistic about how quickly I would be able to wrap this up – after this, there will be at least one more chapter, likely followed by an epilogue…

I am hopeful that the next chapter won't take as long as this one has. But it could have been so much worse – I almost _lost_ this _entire_ chapter – computer glitch! – but happily the document recovery program actually worked. Lesson driven home, though – I'm just saying, back-up is a _very_ good thing.

A/N 2: So, welcome to _Planet Chase_, where this story is now definitely AU… and all errors are mine…

**>>>>>>>**

**Time: Slightly later Morning of Day 5**

Sandy sipped fresh mango juice, as he waited for Kirsten to return from her impromptu meeting with Dr. Woodruff. Ten minutes, she'd said, nearly twenty minutes ago. He didn't doubt that she needed the time ... seeing Ryan so lost was unnerving. He should know – he'd been watching the teenager struggle for days now. Knowing their roles in the boy's current emotional quagmire made it even harder to bear, and he was sure Kirsten's coping mechanisms were not functioning at anywhere near their normal levels.

Ryan had distanced himself while they waited for Kirsten's return, taking off his boots and socks, and climbing onto one of the boulders. From his vantage point, Sandy could see the boy's profile as the teen seemed to stare transfixed out over the Pacific. He had been reluctant to let Ryan stray even that far away, but when the kid had agreed to eat part of a bagel and have some juice in return for a few minutes of solitude, he had relented. Sandy hoped that the teenager was using this time to think about what he had heard so far, and that he was starting to let some of it soak through.

But if he were putting money on it, he'd bet the kid was at a loss. Sandy was struck by how much he was learning about his foster-son that he had just not grasped before. In some very perverted way, this tragedy might serve as a much-needed catalyst, prompting conversations like they were having today. Hopefully leading to changes in thinking and behavior – changes that would be positive not only for Ryan, but for the Cohens as well.

When they had first taken Ryan in, Kirsten had said they were in way over their heads. While he'd always known she was right, he hadn't realized just how right she had been. The kid's intelligence, his keen observation skills, and his desire to please allowed him to slide into any number of roles convincingly. And while Sandy hadn't been naïve enough to believe Ryan's issues would simply dissolve and fade away, until recently – at least on the surface – the boy had seemed to be adjusting well to life within their family.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? Because Sandy should have realized the kid was adjusting _too_ well. That there were simply too many unaddressed issues from Ryan's past to reasonably expect the child to have moved forward unscathed. This much Sandy now clearly understood – the teenager's history needed to be dealt with before the inner child could heal. Because the emotional scars Sandy had so conveniently ignored? Were currently manifesting themselves in the form of devastating self-doubt, anger, and fear. And God only knew what else…

Earlier, Ryan had appeared bewildered by Seth's staunch faith in him, obviously unable to share it. And then with Kirsten, Ryan had spoken about himself as though he were practically valueless. Sandy's heart had cracked a bit when the kid said he didn't deserve what the Cohens gave him. And it had damned near shattered when Ryan made it clear that he expected almost nothing from them.

If Sandy hadn't realized before how little faith Ryan had in himself, or how flawed the boy's concept of self-worth actually was, those deficiencies had just been driven home.

"Sandy?" Kirsten's voice surprised him.

He looked up at her, and rose to his feet. As she slid an arm around his waist, he put one arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close against his body. He hesitated a second, before asking softly, "Are you still up for this, honey? If you need to take care of yourself, if this is too much right now…"

She shook her head, stopping him from speaking further. Her voice was resolute as she said, "This is where I need to be, Sandy. I've got a lot of work to do, and I know that, but I keep thinking about what's really important to me. The one thing that I want more than anything in the world is to have _us_ back – our family." She looked out at Ryan, who was sitting with one leg pulled into his chest, arms wrapped around his shin, as the teenager continued to stare out toward the Pacific. "And it's not _us_ anymore without _him_. He's _ours_."

"I know," Sandy mouthed, as he wrapped his other arm around his wife. Her perfume was subtle and evocative, stirring memories of days and nights together, as he brought his mouth beside her ear, whispering, "Just like you're my reason for being."

She turned her face towards his, her smile tremulous but real. "Oh, Sandy…"

Sandy's heart beat a little stronger, felt a little lighter, as he saw the love reflected in her eyes. This time, he promised himself he wouldn't take _anything_ for granted. And yeah, he and Kirsten had a long way to go. He understood that.

But the fact that she loved him – loved her family – enough to fight through this? Together with his own commitment? Told him everything he needed to know about their chances.

He kissed her hair as she pressed her face into his shoulder and hugged him tightly.

Hesitant to break this renewed connection, but mindful of the reason they were there, Sandy murmured, "Then, if you're ready, we've got a son to get through to."

She shook her head, stepping back from his embrace and musing, "It's startling how closely Dr. Woodruff and Dr. Miller predicted some of his responses." She frowned slightly as she continued, "I hope we're not making a mistake by not having one of them here with us."

Sandy took one of her hands in his, as he reminded her, "They're only a phone call away, Kirsten. Or a couple of hundred yards… And even _they_ thought, given Ryan's reticence, that he'd be more comfortable with us talking to him on our own right now. From what I've heard this morning, I've got to agree. Besides, as we said last night – there's no doubt he's going to need help, honey. Just like we will, as parents of a kid who's gonna' have to deal with what he's lived through. Not to mention this trauma with Trey and Marissa. But that can come next. First, we need to reach him, and I think we've got a better chance of doing that on our own."

She nodded her agreement, glancing toward Ryan. "Then go get him, Sandy. He's been alone long enough."

Sandy wondered whether she meant alone this morning or in his lifetime, thinking in either case she was right. He kissed her hand, answering, "Yeah, he has. But he's got us, now. Break's over."

>>>>>>>

Ryan watched the waves crashing against the boulders, feeling the salt spray on the foot that he dangled over the rock he was sitting on. His jeans caught some of the spray as well, but he didn't care. It felt good, and it was something he could understand. Unlike most everything else from this morning.

Seriously, what were the Cohens thinking? And what had he said that sent Kirsten off to meet with that Dr. Woodruff character? And how much worse would her reaction be when she heard what he really needed to tell her? Should he just keep his mouth shut? Or would that be even more damaging in the long run?

Not to mention dishonest. Which is kinda' what this _all_ felt like. All those amazing things were being said to the _other_ Ryan – the shell he had fabricated. And now that fabrication was poised to crumble, like most things in his life seemed to do eventually …

Seth and Kirsten had been so open, saying things out loud that he had never expected to hear directed to him. Well, at least not the things that Kirsten said… and especially not now, after everything that had happened. She'd used words he'd give anything to believe.

And some of the other stuff she'd said? About failing him? After everything she'd done for him? He'd take the safety and sanity her home offered any day, over anything he'd ever known before coming to live with them.

Ryan assumed that Sandy would be next, unless he stopped this, the only way he knew how. By showing them how _wrong_ they were about him.

Because until they understood? Their words were no more than mere illusions visible in the darkness, which stood to vanish in the light.

He had never allowed himself to count on Kirsten's affection. Her kindness and compassion were more than he'd ever hoped or thought to have, after his mother left him.

In some ways, Kirsten's gentle attention meant more than Dawn's tearful declarations of love. Declarations that were true but twisted, and that were followed time and time again with the same empty promises. And more recently, with goodbye.

The fact was, if there was a chance in the world that Kirsten might love him? Despite everything? That she'd _still_ mean the things she'd said? He wouldn't know how to act. Or even what to think. He couldn't even _imagine_ how _huge_ that would be – couldn't wrap his head around what it would mean, to be truly loved by Kirsten Cohen.

And the truth was he didn't want to think about it too much. Because then it would only hurt more if – _when?_ – she took back the things she'd said.

Sandy was a different matter altogether. He'd counted on his guardian for so much, from day one. Sandy had said way back when they'd first met that Ryan could do worse. As it turned out, Ryan couldn't imagine there was any way in the universe he could possibly have done better.

Sandy had unaccountably taken him in that first night Dawn had thrown him out, and since then, the man had gone out of his way time and time again, trying to make him more comfortable in their home, and in their community. Assuring him he was not the only one who didn't fit in. That everyone had their secrets, and their fears. From the very beginning, Sandy had made him feel welcome, and wanted.

The man had set rules that were fair. He'd tempered his guidance with good humor as well as genuine concern for Ryan's safety and well-being, and had unvaryingly forgiven his mistakes. And remarkably, no matter how badly he'd screwed up, Sandy had never resorted to striking him, or demeaning him. That simply wasn't Sandy's way.

Yeah, he'd let Ryan understand his disappointment at those times, but his guardian had always made it clear the issue was Ryan's _behavior_ – not that _he_ was irredeemable. Although that was a distinction Ryan wasn't sure he really believed. Especially not now, when his behavior had come from somewhere so very deep inside him. How could who you are and how you behave be different, if your actions rage uncontrolled from your very core?

Maybe Sandy had an answer… He had answers for many of the questions Ryan asked. Or often, for the ones Ryan was too embarrassed or too hesitant to voice. Like that one.

Ryan ran his hands through his hair, as he thought about how he'd come to rely on Sandy's guidance. Certainly not always, but way more than he would have ever anticipated. If he were being truthful, he'd have to admit that he'd missed it recently, as his foster father had been busy with more important things.

These last few days, though, he was convinced that Sandy's steady presence had been his salvation. Once again – like so many times before. He drew both his legs up in front of his body, and folded his arms over his knees, resting his chin on his wrists. Thinking about how different Sandy was from any father figure he'd ever known…

Because unlike most of the men Ryan had been obliged to answer to, from his father through the majority of his mother's assorted live-ins, Sandy didn't have to assert power or control over those more powerless in order to feel better about himself. That alone was almost incomprehensible, given Ryan's experience.

That Sandy had the capacity to empathize, to connect, to care, and to forgive – those things would be practically inconceivable, had Ryan not experienced them first-hand.

When he slept – when he couldn't keep his subconscious quiet – Ryan sometimes had dreams in which Sandy was his real father – not just his foster father. Amazing dreams, where Sandy told Ryan that he loved him.

And unlike his careful management of expectations concerning Kirsten's affection, until this whole thing with Trey, Ryan had secretly held out real hope that maybe Sandy's feelings for him were somewhere close to love.

This much he knew – hearing any version of _'I love you'_ coming from Sandy would be _priceless_.

And now, given this 'intervention', what if the _real_ Sandy said those words this morning?

_What if he said them to the other Ryan?_

Because to actually hear those words from Sandy, only to have them ripped away when his foster father understood the truth? That was simply too devastating to think about…

So much better _never_ to hear the words, than to be allowed to hold them in his heart for even an instant, and then lose them forever.

>>>>>>>

Ryan thought how his own parents had seen him clearly enough. How they knew every one of his faults, just like he knew theirs. How they hadn't been the least bit hesitant to list them all, repeatedly. Loudly. Sometimes violently. One thing was certain – they sure as hell wouldn't have been telling him how much he meant to them in the aftermath of his most recent fight with Trey. And if his real father were still in the picture, Ryan would have been lucky to survive the retribution he'd have faced at home.

He remembered the last time Dad had caught them fighting. The time he and Trey had gone at each other over – what was it? – yeah, the bike his dad had bought him for his sixth birthday. And that fight had only ended in a bloody nose.

He could still remember it vividly, which was one of the curses of having a freakingly good memory. He thought how much he'd like to forget some things forever. Like the end of that day.

_The cake with six blue candles, the smell of hotdogs grilling outside, and the unbelievable present he had received. A new cobalt-blue bicycle from K-Mart. Dad actually laughing – a rarity – and Mom taking pictures of him blowing out the candles. Trey eyeing his new bike greedily. _

_Trey taking the bike the instant their parents turned their backs, laughing as he pedaled down the street and around the corner, easily outpacing Ryan's attempt to chase him. _

_Trey bringing the bike back a little later, frame scraped, and the fenders mangled. Laughing at a furious Ryan._

_Trey taunting, "Nice bike, little bro. But it's a little too small, and it doesn't jump worth shit."_

_His threatening Trey, "Don't you ever take my bike again!"_

_His brother laughing, "Or you'll what? Tell Mom and Dad? Hell, Ry, even you know better than to do something that stupid!"_

_Ryan blustering, "Or I'll kick your ass, that's what!"_

_Trey smirking, "Yeah, I hear ya', Ry. Like that's ever gonna' happen!" Trey turning his back and sauntering away, chuckling to himself._

_Ryan launching himself at Trey's retreating form with enough speed and force that he flattened the unsuspecting boy onto the sidewalk, bloodying his brother's nose in the process. The pair rolling across the sidewalk and into the grass, as the bigger boy quickly recovered from the surprise attack._

_Punching and kicking and grabbing hold of wads of hair, as he struggled against Trey's greater size. Surprised Trey hadn't totally clobbered him. More surprised to hear Trey begging him to stop._

_Realizing too late why Trey wanted the fight to stop. Not because Ryan was winning – because he wasn't. Rather, because Dad was storming down the front steps and out into the yard, already jerking his belt from around his waist as he bore down upon them. _

_Dad spotting the crippled bicycle abandoned in the grass, and demanding, "Who the fuck did this?"_

_Hearing his father's enraged voice, "Get the fuck on your feet, both of you! Inside, right now!"_

_Disentangling himself from Trey, and standing on legs that suddenly felt like marshmallows. Climbing the steps shakily, and hearing the screen door slam behind him, making a couple of bounces before it settled down. _

_Heart beating rapidly, standing in the living room, with Dad towering over them both. Watching Mom disappear into the bedroom, staying well out of Dad's way. Seeing what they'd seen – Dad was wasted, and furious – never a good combination. Knowing before his anger was spent, there'd be all kinds of hell to pay…_

_Dad looking at them both, nostrils flaring. The leather belt doubled, ready to be put to use._

"_Which one of you wrecked this brand new bicycle?"_

_Seeing Trey's face, knowing he wasn't about to confess. Feeling like this was really his fault, because Dad might never have noticed the bike if they hadn't attracted his attention with their fight. Knowing that Dad didn't pay a lot of attention to their stuff, unless it got in his way. Worse, knowing that he had started the fight. _

_Stammering, "I did," trying to make it up somehow to Trey._

_Dad glaring at him, until Ryan couldn't look at his eyes anymore. Until he dropped his head, and backed up a couple of feet._

_Dad snorting, "Think you can lie to me and get away with it? I'll teach you not to lie, you little shit, just as soon as I'm done with Trey. I promise you, you'll remember this lesson for a long, long time." _

_Listening as his father laid into Trey, yelling at him for wrecking the bike. Then for fighting. Dad calling his older brother stupid and useless and worthless, and a bunch of other stuff a whole lot worse. Trey smart-mouthing something back that Ryan hadn't understood, making Dad even madder. Dad's eyes getting smaller, as he grabbed Trey's arm hard enough to leave bruises. _

_Dad snarling, "What did you say, boy?"_

_Trey realizing he'd just gone way too far, and backing down, "Nothing. I'm sorry." _

_Ryan thinking it was always smart to say that you were sorry, even if you didn't always know what you were sorry for. Sometimes, when Dad wasn't too wasted, or too angry, it was enough to stop him from hitting you. He'd let you off with just the yelling. Other times, it might be enough to stop him from hurting you more. Besides, you'd always have to say it before Dad would be satisfied, anyway. Probably say it more than once. Because holding back only made Dad madder and meaner._

_Knowing this time, all the 'I'm sorry's' in the world wouldn't be enough to save Trey. Or him._

_Watching Dad's face get redder, as he jerked Trey's arm. "I thought I taught you to call me 'sir'! Or did I just imagine that?"_

_Trey gulping as he stammered, "I'm sorry, sir."_

_Seeing Trey bite his lips to keep from crying out, as Dad's fingers dug deeper into his arm, and twisted cruelly. As Dad seethed, "I don't think you are, boy, but you will be… I'll teach you to respect me."_

_And then watching as Dad had taken his belt to Trey, not stopping until his brother was in tears. Which meant not stopping for a long time, because Trey didn't cry easily. Not stopping until Trey said he was 'sorry, sir' over and over, although it hadn't seemed real clear what he was supposed to be sorry for. For the mangled bike? For fighting? Or for not respecting Dad? Who knew? What did it really matter? The results were all the same…_

_And then it had been his turn. _

_There was Dad, turning to him. His face still contorted with anger. Still gripping the belt. _

"_Ryan?" the quiet voice at odds with the rage-filled face. _

"_Ryan!" the voice insisted, the face receding into memory._

Because that last voice was real. And very close.

Without thinking, he responded quickly. Out loud. "Yes, sir?" His voice sounded more like six than seventeen, as he struggled to re-orient himself to his surroundings.

"Whoa! Where did _that_ come from?" .

Ryan felt relief flood through him, as he found himself looking down into the concerned face of his guardian. Sandy was standing only a few feet away, on the sand below him, eyebrows knit together, and head cocked to the side, apparently wanting some clarification. He wondered how long Sandy had been there, watching.

Swallowing, he met his foster father's eyes, "I .. uh, I was just thinking about my father."

Sandy frowned slightly, "You thought I was your father?"

Nodding, Ryan explained, "Pretty intense memory. I guess I was a little out there… Sorry if it looked like I was ignoring you."

His guardian surprised him by lithely climbing up to where Ryan was perched. Much to Ryan's relief, Sandy sat down on a rock a few feet away from his own, out of range of the salt spray. For the moment, a little distance seemed safer. He felt less vulnerable beyond arm's length.

"You want to talk about it?" the man asked, his tone cautious.

Ryan concentrated on his watch, tugging at the band. He glanced across at his foster father, who was eyeing him steadily. He stared at the watch face again, as he mumbled, "Not really."

Furtively looking across at Sandy, only to see the expression of concern on his guardian's face deepen, he made himself elaborate briefly, "Just Dad being Dad. Kicking ass. Trey's. Mine…" Ryan shrugged, and raised his eyebrows, trying to assure Sandy it was no big deal.

But Sandy didn't seem to see it quite that way. "I wish I could change what you went through back then, kid."

"It's okay, Sandy. It's done." He dug his toes into the pits on the rock surface, feeling the rough surface scratch against his skin, sloughing off the dead cells and some of the living ones as well. Wishing he could as easily erase the memories he had of the man whose DNA he shared.

Sandy shook his head from side to side, the movement barely visible. His eyes locked onto Ryan's and held them fast for several seconds. "I wish that were true, son."

Stunned by the intensity of the connection, Ryan dropped his head. He blinked his eyes, which suddenly seemed ready to betray him. He looked back up and raised his eyebrows, not trusting himself to form words that would not end in tears. Pretty pathetic when he couldn't even say _me, too_…

Ryan was grateful his guardian said nothing for a few seconds. He took the time to collect himself, turning once more to stare out across the sea. He was brought back by Sandy's voice.

"Do you know what you just did, kid?" Sandy was watching him closely once again.

Puzzled, Ryan shook his head 'no', but said nothing.

Sandy smiled, "You just let me inside your head. Just a little. Thanks for trusting me enough to do that…"

Ryan gave Sandy his best facsimile of a smile, while he cringed inside, thinking how much more he needed to say. Realizing how every kind thing they said or did made the thought of rejection only that much harder to bear. But he needed to keep this conversation separate from the one he had to have with both his foster parents. So not yet – not until they were all together.

Momentarily spared confession, he turned back to the topic at hand. To a waiting Sandy. He tried to keep his voice steady, as he asked, "Are we okay? Did I say something wrong before? What '_that'_ were you talking about, anyway?"

Sandy looked like he was rewinding their conversation, searching for his place. He flicked his eyebrows upwards, as he answered, "I was just surprised you'd addressed me as 'sir'. But you weren't talking to me. I take it you called your father 'sir'?"

"Yeah. We didn't have much of a choice…" Ryan let the sentence fade, hoping maybe Sandy wouldn't ask any more questions. He really didn't want to talk about his dad anymore.

His foster father nodded, signifying he understood. His face assumed a more relaxed expression, as he grinned wryly across at Ryan. "So, I don't have to worry you're gonna' go all formal on us? I mean, within the family? 'Cause I'm not sure how well we'd handle that…"

Ryan shook his head. Honestly. The respectful words his dad had busted him so many times for forgetting – or refusing – to say? Sandy didn't want. Had never seemed to need.

"Yes, sir. Got it," he answered, waiting for Sandy's reaction. Unable to hide his grin when his guardian's eyes flew to his face.

Sandy chuckled. "Careful, kid. You don't want to spoil me."

"Yeah, we can't have that," Ryan agreed. "Don't want to raise your expectations…"

The look Sandy gave him was odd, making Ryan wonder if he'd just screwed up again.

Sandy's voice was thoughtful, as he replied, "Maybe not. But I sure as hell want to raise _yours_."

When Ryan looked wide-eyed as his guardian, perplexed once more, Sandy stood up and smiled. "Come on, kid. Kirsten is waiting for us."

Ryan scrambled to his feet, following the surprisingly agile Sanford Cohen back down the spill of boulders to the sand.

As he walked beside his guardian, he thought again of his own father. How Dad had demanded his obedience, submission, and respect. How all Ryan had ever felt for his father was fear and loathing.

But this man? His guardian? Who asked for so little in return for all he gave? Had earned much more than Ryan could ever hope to offer.

For starters, though, he deserved the truth.

Ryan braced himself for what he had to say. Because, regardless of their plans, he was determined he was going next.

>>>>>>>

More than a little impressed with the rest facilities offered in their private alcove, Ryan stood in what he supposed would be the lobby of the stucco and stone structure. There, a fountain of water poured down a free-standing field-stone wall into a series of infinity pools, before disappearing under the marble floor, and reappearing outside as a stone-lined brook winding its way back through the greenery.

He'd already stolen a moment to rehearse his opening lines, taking advantage of the floor to ceiling mirrors that covered the back wall of the building. Now, reaching down to adjust the laces on his left boot for the second time since he had pulled his socks and shoes back on, he reluctantly recognized his own stalling tactics for what they were. Irritated, he forced himself to straighten and exit the building.

He walked with growing anxiety through the rows of palms, headed to rejoin his guardians who were now seated at the table. As he neared Sandy and Kirsten, the words he had planned to say flew out of his head. So much for the good memory he had cursed, he thought, annoyed. Knowing this memory failure was born of fear.

_Too fucking bad_, he told himself. _Wing it, Atwood…_

Ryan watched Sandy pull a chair close to his own, indicating that he should sit there. "Last, but definitely not least," his foster father said, his voice serious, but touched with humor.

Ryan stopped short, and planted his feet shoulder-width apart, keeping the table between them and himself. He felt his lungs tighten again – like the rubber bands were back. He did his best to ignore the sensation, as he said more sharply than he intended, "No, Sandy. _I'm_ next. Actually, I should have been first – it could probably have saved you all a lot of trouble."

He watched as his guardians exchanged another one of their 'looks', but was unable to read it.

Kirsten answered, her expression earnest, "We want to do this, Ryan. We want you to understand how we feel about you. Please believe me, honey – our time with you today isn't any kind of 'trouble'.

She rose, obviously intending to cross to where he stood. He shook his head, and held up a hand, as he backed a few steps away. He cringed as he saw the hurt look that crossed her face, and the sharp glance he got from Sandy. But at least she stopped, and Sandy remained seated, and that was good. Because he didn't think he could get through this if either of them touched him.

Swallowing, he said firmly, "You guys are amazing – I _mean_ that. But you've got to understand, before you say anything else – I'm not who you think I am."

Sandy's voice was firm, as his guardian pressed, "Then why don't you come here and sit down? Let's talk this through, together."

Ryan shook his head, afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't do this his way. From a distance. He clenched one fist, and wrapped his other hand around it, as his breathing became more labored. "You need to understand about last year. And about Trey."

Sandy rose from his chair, but only stepped a couple of feet in his direction. His eyes locked onto Ryan's, as he urged, "We want to understand, Ryan. Whatever you want to tell us – I hope you know that. But there's nothing you can say…"

Ryan cut him off, "I think maybe there is, Sandy. If you really _listen_ to me this time." Ryan bit his lips as he waited for their response. His arms wound themselves around his midsection, as though he could hold himself in place. Keep from escaping from this thing he didn't want to do.

Another look passed between the pair, which ended in Sandy's movement toward him.

"Stop!" Ryan heard himself cry out, as he threw his arms out in front of his body, freezing Sandy in his tracks. Before his guardian changed his mind, and over-rode Ryan's command, he quickly pleaded further, "Just please – let me talk."

He gestured with his hands, pressing them forward, figuratively shoving his foster parents away. "I'm begging you. Just stay there, and listen. I need you to stay over there."

He could hear his voice shaking as he spoke, and cursed internally. This was only the start, and he was already choking. _Fuck_.

Ryan watched as Kirsten fingered her cell-phone, glancing across at Sandy. He wondered if this was when they called in reinforcements, and was relieved to see Sandy shake his head at Kirsten, and the phone disappear inside a pocket. Sandy leaned against the front of table, closer to Ryan than he'd like, but at least still beyond arm's length.

His guardian spoke carefully, "Okay, Ryan. We're keeping the distance you want. And we're listening. Say anything you want – we're not going anywhere, I promise."

"What is it, honey?" Kirsten added, taking her own position against the table. Her eyes were unsettled, and Ryan saw her hand grasp Sandy's tightly.

Ryan dropped his arms, winding one around his midriff, and clutching his shoulder with his other hand. He swallowed hard, and drew in his breath as best he could. He looked in their direction, but kept his focus on the landscaping behind them, sneaking only quick glances at their faces as he spoke. "About last year, first. Like I tried to explain in my email, last year was all a lie. Because when you let me come back? I wanted to make sure you wouldn't be sorry." He snorted softly, adding, "And look how well that turned out…"

"Ryan," Kirsten started, her voice soothing.

He quickly trampled over her words, afraid he'd lose his nerve. "Please, just listen." Seeing her head nod, he did his best to ignore the pain her eyes reflected, telling himself he'd hurt her less by telling the truth than by deceiving her further with his lies. He started talking, "So when I got back, I never talked about Theresa, or the baby. I figured you guys didn't need that. And Theresa wouldn't answer any of my letters, so it wasn't like there was much I could do, anyway. She made it pretty clear she didn't want me around."

Ryan watched Kirsten tilt her head, and saw Sandy grimace when she tightened her fingers around his. Not wanting to discuss Theresa, he moved on quickly, "I still _really_ don't want to talk about that. It's just that I thought if I could just focus on school, and on staying out of trouble, maybe things would be okay. So, I took the classes that everyone wanted me to take, and gave up stuff that didn't seem so important at the time. Like… well, like soccer. You know, so I wouldn't have any distractions. I tried hard to concentrate on studying, and making good grades."

Kirsten nodded. "Okay – no talk about Theresa for the moment," she promised. "But about school? I thought you wanted to take the AP classes, Ryan."

Ryan frowned, "Because that's what I thought you guys wanted. I'm not complaining – I liked the challenge – but it's like I was just pretending– just going through the motions."

Ryan noticed his breathing was getting easier, as he continued speaking, "And then I met Lindsay, and you know how that went. I tried to be the perfect boyfriend – I pretended again. Pretended I understood all the times she wanted space. Pretended I understood about Caleb. I mean, I kinda' did, but it still hurt. I just didn't want her to worry about me. But in the end, it didn't matter. She still left. I mean, I get it – I know that family's more important, but it just brought up a lot of stuff from the past, you know? With my mom leaving and everything?"

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, sweetie. That I made it harder for you both in the beginning," Kirsten offered, her voice catching a little.

He shrugged. "If I'd known that you'd get hurt, I'd never have gone out with her. Because the last thing I wanted was to cause you any more pain – I'd hurt you too much already. Especially because Seth took off when I left last summer."

"Seth's leaving was not your fault, Ryan," Sandy said firmly, "And you..."

"Please, Sandy. I know you say that. Seth says that. But it's not really true, and we all know it." Ryan flicked his eyebrows."But I tried to make things up to him, too. For leaving him like I did. Because if I understand anything? It's how it feels to be abandoned."

Ryan grimaced, as he toyed with how much to tell them. Before he made himself tell them everything, so they could see him for what he really was. "I don't know how much attention you were paying this year, but Seth? Was pretty needy. And more self-absorbed than ever. And it irritated the crap out of me, but most of the time I pretended like it didn't. I joined his comic book club, I listened to him when he was upset about Alex, and through all the stuff with Summer – all year I tried to be there whenever he needed me, and stay out of his way when he didn't. Because I owed him. Because I owed all of you."

"You don't have to put up with Seth's ego-centric behavior. You heard him this morning – let him know when he annoys you," Sandy counseled.

"Yeah, I kinda' did, when he really got to me, but that's not the point, Sandy. The point is, all year I was pretending to be someone I'm not with everybody. With you guys, with Seth, with Lindsay… The perfect student, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect brother. And I guess, the perfect son. Foster son, I mean. But it wasn't real."

Ryan took one more step back, until he could lean against a palm tree. He felt the rough bark against his back, as he continued uninterrupted, ""I didn't want you to think you'd made a mistake by letting me come back. And I thought if I could be who you wanted me to be, then maybe it could work this time. Maybe I wouldn't disappoint you like before… And the few times I dropped the pretense? I snapped at Caleb, and he had a heart attack. And I yelled at Marissa, and really hurt her."

Ducking his head, Ryan kicked at the sand. He raised his eyes, lifting his eyebrows in resignation as his guardians remained still. He'd gotten to the hard stuff. The unforgivable stuff.

"And then there was Trey. It's like, with his arrival, all the stuff from back home just came with him. And as hard as I fought to keep pretending things were okay, they weren't. We… Trey and I … we've just got too much history. Too many shared memories, and half-finished arguments, and too little trust…"

Ryan stopped, unable to speak further for a moment. He dropped his head again, and squeezed his eyes together, determined the bitter frustration he felt would not result in tears. Ryan sensed Sandy's movement, and stepping away from the tree, backed up to counter it. Lifting his head, Ryan pleaded, "No. Please, no. Just hear me out, okay?"

"I'm not going to stop you from speaking, Ryan. I just want to close this space between us."

"You're close enough right there. Please, Sandy? Don't crowd me…" Ryan's voice felt strangled, and harsher than he'd intended. But Sandy stopped, his face grim.

Glancing quickly from Sandy to Kirsten, Ryan drew in a deep breath, and made himself utter his next words. "With Trey? When I learned what happened with Marissa? I couldn't do it anymore. Pretend, I mean. It's like everything I'd felt all year, and all the stuff that came with Trey – it was just all there, you know? And when I went to his apartment that night? It was so much worse than what you think."

Ryan tried his best not to filter his thoughts too much. To let them see who they were dealing with… "I mean, when I left your house, I wanted to hurt Trey. Because of what he'd tried to do to Marissa. But when I saw him, when he pulled that gun on me -- something happened. It's like I snapped, and I didn't just want to hurt him anymore." Ryan paused for a second before he elaborated grimly, "Right then? I wanted to _kill_ him."

Ryan felt his heart beating rapidly, as his breathing quickened. He surveyed his foster parents' faces, for signs that they had _heard_ him. But Kirsten merely stared, while Sandy's face was blank of all emotion.

Frustration setting in, Ryan snapped, "Don't you get it? Don't either of you get it? I fucking tried to kill my own brother! _I wanted him dead_. I've… I've never lost control like that. And it all happened so fast – like one second I was upset with Trey about Marissa, and the next second, it was so much _bigger_. It was like every conflict I ever had with Trey surfaced all at once. All the times we got into it. All the lies. The broken promises… All the times I played his stupid little bitch. I just wanted it all to end. If Marissa hadn't shot him, I would have died that night – Trey had me. But if I could have gotten the advantage? Right then? The way I felt? I probably would have killed him."

Now they just looked stunned, Ryan thought. Kirsten's hand had moved up to cover her mouth, and Sandy's eyes were wide. The horror hadn't settled in just yet… Before it did, he had to explain one final, daunting, all-consuming fear.

He said softly, urgently, "And here's the thing… I can't guarantee that something like that won't happen _again_. I never knew I could lose it like that. That it could happen so fast, and so completely. I mean, now I'd do anything to be able to take it all back, but I just keep thinking – if I was ready to murder my own brother, what other unspeakable things am I _capable_ of? How can anyone ever trust me? How can _you_ trust me? When I can't even trust myself…?"

He didn't wait to see their reaction this time, but rather spun toward the Pacific, not stopping until he was standing in the breakers. Not caring that his boots were soaked, or that the water was half-way to his knees. The sound of the surf roared in his ears, as he stood with his eyes closed. Wondering if there was anything left inside him that wasn't ugly and despicable.

But at least he had finally done the right thing – the honorable thing – by telling them. It was something.

He swiped his eyes with the heels of his hands, feeling the hot tears that threatened to spill down his face.

>>>>>>>

He felt a hand on his back, and spun around to see Sandy standing in the surf.

The man's eyes sought his, as his guardian spoke, "We're not done, Ryan."

Ryan dropped his head, steeling himself to hear his foster father's words. He was sure they understood _now_ how fucked up he was. And that they'd turn him out … because they'd be crazy not to.

Sandy placed his hand on Ryan's shoulder and allowed it to rest there, squeezing gently until Ryan looked up at him.

Ryan's heart pounded as he waited to be discarded. The sound of the surf and his wildly beating heart nearly drowned out Sandy's words.

As his guardian said softly, "We're not done, because I haven't told you yet how much I love you_."_

Ryan blinked, wondering if he could _possibly_ have heard right.

Unable to move, or even think, he felt Sandy's hand move to cup his neck. Felt himself gathered into his foster father's arms, as Sandy cradled him against his chest, completely ignoring the surf and salt spray. Hugging Ryan like he'd hug a small child, tight and tender at the same time.

As he felt Sandy's chin resting against his head, and Sandy's hand stroking his hair, Ryan gave up trying to understand what this all meant. He gave up trying to think at all...

For the moment, for once, he simply _felt_.

And for the first time in his life, he shyly wrapped his arms around a father that he loved.

_>>>>>>>_

_tbc_

A/N 3: As ever, _many_ thanks for each and every review – I continue to learn, with your help. And after the isolation of writing, it is a joy to hear from you! Your comments and insights continue to intrigue and inspire me. To those of you who take your time so faithfully -- you are absolutely incomparable, and your thoughts are so very much appreciated! And to those of you who have shared a piece of yourselves – like waiting in airports for Katrina victims, being 'half-adopted', or describing de-lurking to review – I'm touched…


	10. Chapter 10

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Simply borrowing… (The only things that are mine are any errors.)

A/N: This latest chapter cried to be broken in two, and I obliged – it would have been _far_ too long otherwise. But the end _is_ in sight – I promise! So once again, welcome to my AU.

**>>>>>>>**

**Time: Picks up _immediately_ after Chapter 9, still Morning of Day 5**

Sandy closed his eyes, as he felt Ryan's arms wrapping gently around him. Pressing his chin against the boy's blond hair, he silently thanked Trey for his pointed words from yesterday. To think – he might have settled for something… _less.._. like so many times before.

And missing _this_ connection?

_Unthinkable_…

>>>>>>>

Sandy felt Ryan's weight slowly pressing more heavily against his shoulder, as the boy leaned into him for support. He shifted his stance slightly, ensuring he stood unyielding as the Pacific rushed past them… protecting his son from being knocked about by its momentum.

Just like he'd protect this child from _other_ forces that now threatened him.

Sadly, he realized those forces were not all external. The kid could be his own worst enemy, as he turned his strengths against himself. For although this kid was more than willing to forgive others their failures and imperfections, to allow for their humanity – he seemed unprepared to grant _himself_ the same concession. The boy's ruthless self-assessment could not have been more evident than it had been this morning, revealed in the guilt-racked words of his confession.

Sandy had been stunned. Although the teenager constantly amazed him, he'd _never_ expected the kid to open up to them like that, exposing himself and his fears so completely.

_Where_, given the childhood this boy had lived through, had Ryan's moral compass _come_ from? His courage? His honesty? His heart? In the midst of certain darkness, who or what had shaped this boy?

Sandy frowned in self-reproach.

How had he not seen this all before? Not sought answers? Not sought help?

Before his son was shattered?

Sandy felt tears gathering in his eyes, but he wasn't willing to move a hand to dry them. Not while Ryan stood inside his arms, so lost and broken.

Old lines taunted him, their simplistic warnings threatening their future.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men… _

Firmly shoving those words aside, Sandy clenched his jaws together, vowing stubbornly they'd find the way to put _this_ kid back together again.

He felt Ryan stir, before the boy slowly straightened and pulled away.

They'd had a 'moment' – but it would take so much more to undo the damage this kid had suffered growing up… And, Sandy thought ruefully, to ease the new pain Ryan had suffered under _their_ watch …

Ryan's face tilted up, revealing liquid dark blue eyes.

Eyes that spoke even when the child did not. Sandy saw what he'd expected.

Pain. Wonder. Guilt. Embarrassment. Confusion. They were all there, struggling for position.

Clearly, the kid's mind had re-engaged. And while Ryan's heart might have had its own agenda, Sandy knew the boy's head would be their greater challenge.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was sure was coming.

>>>>>>>

Ryan's thoughts were racing, as he tried to assign meaning to the incomprehensible. Raising his head hesitantly, he found Sandy's eyes scanning his face, concern written in their blue depths.

He struggled to find his voice, finally managing to whisper, "I don't get it, Sandy. I don't understand…"

Sandy drew in a heavy breath, and let it out before smiling reassuringly, "I know, son. So for this second, just hang on to this – nothing you said changes how we feel."

Blinking, Ryan tried to rearrange his guardian's words so they made sense. Because … things _had_ to have changed, didn't they?

Sandy spoke again, his voice gentle, "What do you say we go back and sit down? There's so much more I want us to talk about, Ryan. So many things you need to hear." He placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder, squeezing carefully. Seeming mindful of his bruises.

Ryan focused on his guardian's hand, his eyes slowly following the extended arm back toward Sandy's body, and up to Sandy's face.

As he stood staring, it slowly registered that the surf was still slapping against his legs, its cold hands reaching up past his knees. The roar of the water seemed to fill his head, making it almost impossible to think.

"Ryan?" Sandy's voice broke through the noise, re-focusing his attention.

_It was just so hard to speak._ The words refused to come at all this time, so he nodded his assent. He felt his foster father's hand slide across his back, as Sandy wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and propelled him slowly back toward the table.

How could he suddenly feel so lost again? How was that possible? When only minutes earlier he had felt so… _euphoric_? So _reassured_?

And how was it that some piece of him _needed_ this physical connection with his guardian, but another part wanted to sharply shrug Sandy's arm off his shoulders and inject a safer distance between them?

It was like everything seemed _off_, somehow – too dreamlike to be real. And although he trusted these people more than he'd trusted anyone in a very long time, how could he believe words he couldn't even understand?

Like, could the man beside him _really_ _love_ him, despite everything he'd told them? Everything he'd done? God, how was that even _possible_?

And …

He slowed down as he noticed the empty table looming ahead of them.

When he saw the deserted shoreline, his heart froze. He had the sensation that liquid lead pumped through its chambers… the movement too hard, the beats erratic.

Feeling almost sick, he stopped in his tracks, causing Sandy to halt as well.

"What is it, Ryan?" Sandy's eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes bored into Ryan's.

"_Kirsten_," Ryan mumbled.

He anxiously scanned the alcove, but she was clearly _gone_. He hung his head, and scrunched his eyes together as a tremor rocked his body. He should have known.

He felt Sandy's arm tighten, as his foster father said softly, "It's okay, kid. She's not deserted us, I promise you."

Sandy sounded so certain…

But in Ryan's world, people _left_. _Everyone_ left, eventually. Everyone he _loved_.

Nonetheless, when Sandy urged him forward once more, he complied, wrapping his arms tightly around his midriff. He focused intently on the sand covering his sodden boots, unable to face the emptiness where Kirsten used to be. He felt his stomach churning as his reflections grew more dismal.

He slowly realized that his feet were cold. That he was cold. That here, under a brilliant California sun, his teeth were starting to chatter.

"Uh-oh," Sandy's voice startled him. His guardian said softly, "Mom alert, kid."

Ryan looked up from his dark musings, astonished to see Kirsten striding through the palms, arms laden with towels and other items. As she drew near, she glanced first at Ryan and then directed her attention to Sandy.

"He's freezing, Sandy. What _is_ it with you guys and that frigid fish-infested water, anyway? His lips are blue…" she fumed.

"Honey, it's in the 70's today," Sandy argued easily. "No one's gonna' freeze out here."

"And the water temperature is probably somewhere in the 50's," she countered, unimpressed.

Startled to hear the exasperation in her voice, Ryan jumped in to defend his guardian. "It's my fault, Kirsten. Don't be mad at Sandy, please. Be mad at me, okay?"

Her face softened instantly, as she shoved her armload of towels and other items into Sandy's hands and turned to Ryan. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him, saying quietly, "I'm not mad, sweetheart. Just… worried."

Dazed, Ryan returned her hug cautiously, a little afraid that he might hug her too hard.

Involuntarily, a shiver ran through his body.

She released him, backing up a step and urging, "Come on, Ryan. To the chairs. I want you to get those wet boots and socks off this instant."

How could he tell a hovering Kirsten that the cold he felt wasn't really from his water-logged feet or soaked legs? It was so much deeper than that.

He was more than a little grateful when Sandy distracted Kirsten, complaining, "Hey! What about _me_? Where's my hug? Remember honey, I'm wet, too."

Ryan stood rooted, unable to move as Kirsten gave Sandy an indulgent smile, before instructing her husband pertly, "_You_ can bring the towels."

When she turned back from Sandy to see that Ryan hadn't stirred from his position, Kirsten crossed her arms and glared, snapping, "Boots. Socks. _Now_. I _mean_ it, Ryan."

Ryan flicked his eyebrows, relieved. _There_ was finally something he _could_ understand. _That_ was Kirsten in mom-overdrive, and if he'd learned anything while living with the Cohens, it was that whenever she adopted that demeanor you'd better do as she instructed.

Quickly moving to obey her, he stripped off the offending footwear, revealing shriveled toes. Moments later, his toweled feet were resting on the toasted sand, while Kirsten continued to fuss over him. She finally seemed to relax when he finished the steaming cup of tea she'd insisted that he drink.

As he handed a calmer Kirsten his empty cup, Ryan felt warmer. Still lost, still wet… but definitely warmer.

Setting the cup down, Kirsten started sorting through the stack of items she'd brought out. While she was searching, she explained, "I borrowed some of the clinic's medical scrubs so you two can change into something dry." She turned around triumphantly, having located the drawstring pants she sought. "Why don't you take a minute, and go do that?" She held out the pants.

Ryan looked at the scrubs, alarmed. She couldn't be serious. "But they… they're _pink_, Kirsten."

Sandy snorted, "Yeah, honey, Ryan and I aren't exactly 'pink pants' kind of guys."

Ryan watched as Kirsten turned her glare on Sandy, thinking she was pretty effective. That look _worked_ for her.

His guardian seemed to realize he'd made a mistake, and tried to mollify his wife. "I'm just saying, pink's not my first color choice…"

Kirsten's eyes flashed, and her voice brokered no argument as she responded, "They are _not_ pink. They're _salmon_. And they're _dry_."

Her words were followed swiftly by a toss of scrubs. Ryan raised his eyebrows as his pair landed with some force against his chest. The woman had more strength in that skinny little arm than he'd imagined…

Quickly glancing up at her, he thought she looked like the Kirsten he remembered from the first year he lived with them. _Kirsten_ _Classic_.

She thrust one arm, finger pointed, toward the bath house. "Get moving, the pair of you – I don't want to hear another word from either of you until you've changed."

'Kirsten Classic' suddenly reminded Ryan a little of the Borg Queen. In either case, he figured resistance was freakin' futile…

He rose to his feet, looking across at Sandy, who grinned back ruefully.

"Come on kid. Trust me, we don't want to argue with Kirsten when she uses _that_ voice. We may as well suck it up, and go with the salmon…" His guardian's dimples showed themselves as the man tucked his scrubs under his arm, and motioned for Ryan to follow him to the bath house. As they walked bare-footed through the palms, Sandy added, "Look at the bright side. She didn't bring us salmon booties."

"_Pink_," Ryan muttered, relieved that Seth was back at school.

>>>>>>>

Staring at his reflection in the mirrored back wall of the bath house, Sandy decided he looked pretty good in salmon. He turned sideways, and raised his eyebrows.

_Damn fine ass_…

He snorted, thinking metaphorically he shouldn't have much of an ass left. Between Seth, Dr. Kim, Child Services, Julie, Trey, the police, and even Kirsten, it'd been chewed on pretty thoroughly. And he knew that the ADA and Ryan's PO were probably next in line to get their chunks. Which was okay – he figured he deserved their wrath. He could take whatever they doled out, and he'd survive.

Just as long as Ryan wasn't incarcerated or taken away from them. And versus four days ago? The odds were _definitely_ improving…

Sandy allowed himself a little smile as he thought about his foster son, who had exited irritably a few minutes ago. The teenager hadn't exactly _embraced_ the salmon scrubs. His teasing hadn't helped the situation either, judging by the steely glare and rolling eyes the boy had directed his way. Still, it was kind of comforting to see the kid behaving like a kid for once.

Her voice came out of nowhere, "So, are you mad, too?"

Startled, Sandy saw his wife's anxious reflection staring at him.

"What do you mean, honey?" he asked, turning to face Kirsten.

"Ryan's positively sulking, and you're hiding out in here. I'm starting to feel like some witch…"

He quickly crossed the lobby, and took her in his arms, assuring her, "Well, if you are, you're a very _good_ witch." He thought it was probably best not to bring up Ryan's testy snipe about assimilation. She might not appreciate the humor…

When her eyebrows furrowed, he hastened to explain, "Honey, I'm not hiding. I'm just giving Ryan a few more minutes to sulk. And trust me, he's not mad at _you_… although he might be a little ticked with me right now. I mighta' teased him a little, although, I gotta' say, I was pretty funny…"

She rolled her eyes at him, glaring just a little.

Sandy raised his eyebrows, grinning. "That was _exactly_ his reaction."

"Sandy!" she admonished sharply.

He shrugged, "Honey, the fact is kids let down walls at a cost. We've both seen it with Seth. I used to see it all the time with the kids I represented – they'd reveal something to me, and then feel exposed or be embarrassed. So they'd start an argument, or became withdrawn or moody. It's a way to re-establish their autonomy."

Kirsten sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder, "Ryan just tore down a _massive_ wall…"

Sandy stroked her hair, thinking it felt like some miracle of silk-spun gold spilling through his fingers.

He rested his chin on her head, saying quietly, "That's what I'm saying... just imagine how _vulnerable_ he's feeling. So if grumbling about wearing the scrubs helps Ryan cope a little better, it's okay. It's probably even good. It's a safe outlet, and besides, the kid _needs_ to start letting us know when he doesn't like something."

She tilted her head back, fixing him with her soft blue eyes, "You think?"

"Absolutely," he assured her, adding silently to himself, 'A_s long as he doesn't close down. Or worse yet, give up...'_

>>>>>>>

As Sandy and Kirsten approached, Ryan scrunched his toes into the sand, feeling like he needed grounding. He kept trying to wrap his head around everything that had been said this morning, still without success.

What if he allowed himself to trust the Cohens? What if he accepted that their words applied to _him_?

He dug his feet deeper into the sand, trying to anchor himself. To stop his head from spinning.

It was all simply too _big_ for him to comprehend. Too surreal…

"Let's talk, kid," Sandy smiled fleetingly, as he sat down. Their chairs were pulled side by side, their wide armrests meeting. Sandy laid his arm beside Ryan's, so that they lightly touched.

Ryan found himself staring at the tangle of dark hair on Sandy's forearm, noticing how it contrasted with the sun-bleached blondness of his own. Pretty obvious there was no shared DNA there, but this man felt so much more like a _real_ father than Dad ever had. And yet, was there anything further from the truth…?

"Ryan?" Sandy nudged him lightly.

Focusing, Ryan nodded his assent, watching as Kirsten settled in, curling up in a chair not far from Sandy. She faced them both, but was angled closer toward her husband.

Sandy glanced at her, and then turned to Ryan, saying, "You think that what we've said – what I'm going to say – is based on an image that isn't real. You're worried that we didn't know everything we should have known about your fight with Trey. So let's address those things. At least make a first pass."

Ryan leaned heavily back against his chair, dropping his chin to his chest. He could be such a fucking idiot sometimes. He'd actually allowed himself to start imagining all that stuff they'd said might still count, just because Sandy had been kind enough to come after him, and Kirsten had taken care of him when he was cold and wet. Of course, _this_ was where they'd qualify their words.

Picking at a drawstring, he forced himself to speak. "I'm sorry," he managed to say, "about _everything_."

He raised his head, to find two sets of eyes watching him closely.

Kirsten shook her head, "We know, sweetheart. We're sorry, too. But you need to realize, Ryan, you didn't really surprise us with what you said about how you were pretending this year. If we hadn't both been distracted, we would have recognized that things weren't right. The fact is, Ryan… _we_ screwed up, or we'd have been talking about this _months_ ago…"

Ryan blinked, as he processed what she'd just said.

"Guess I'm getting better at hiding the truth," he offered carefully, trying to lesson the guilt he swore he heard in her voice.

Sandy nudged him, shaking his head when their eyes met. "Guess _again_, kid. You just happened to catch us in a really bad… _year_. Which _won't_ be repeated, so don't even _think_ about playacting again. Capiche?"

Ryan recognized the 'parent' voice Sandy used when he meant business. The delivery was so 'Sandy-esque'… serious words softened with just a trace of humor.

He nodded, feeling more amazed than chastised. They were acting like _they_ were somehow at fault, when he'd been the one to lie. Freakin' unbelievable.

Kirsten smiled a little sadly, as she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Her eyes caught his, before she sighed and said, "You know, Ryan, you weren't the _only_ one pretending this year. I'm just starting to realize, I've been pretending for a very long time myself. Pretending to be the perfect daughter. Frustrated because no matter how hard I tried, I never measured up… It's complicated – I've got to do a lot of work to figure it all out, but you know what? It's a relief not to play that role anymore. I'm just not cut out for that part." She made a face, as she nodded her head toward their surroundings. "_Obviously_," she added self-consciously.

"Honey," Sandy reacted, reaching for one of her hands, "Perfect's far too 'Stepford' for my tastes. Give me human any day, okay? We'll make it through this." He touched Ryan's wrist, adding, "That goes for you, too, kid."

Ryan was still absorbing what Kirsten had said. She'd pretended, too? She thought somehow she didn't measure up? _Incredible_.

That was Caleb's doing, he was sure. As much as he despised the wreckage caused by his own father, he wasn't sure he would have traded his dad for Kirsten's. Dad's terror had been largely direct and predictable, unlike what he had seen of Caleb Nichol's mind games. That guy had been freakin' Machiavellian.

Realizing Sandy was speaking again, Ryan turned to see his guardian watching him curiously.

Sandy raised his eyebrows, teasing, "Glad you could join me again, kid."

"Sorry."

Sandy shrugged affably, as he continued, "I was just saying, if everyone who wasn't perfect had to leave our family, there wouldn't be anyone left. Start with me, for example. I didn't listen when my kid tried to talk to me. I hurt the people I love more than life, I didn't pay enough attention to what was happening under our own roof, I've been careless and thoughtless and smug – altogether, not exactly the poster-guy for perfection, hum?" He grimaced self-effacingly.

Ryan blinked, unsure of how to respond. He didn't need Sandy to be perfect. He just needed him to be there… But before he could put together a coherent sentence, Sandy put up a hand, holding him off.

Placing his hand on Ryan's arm, Sandy leaned toward him. His voice thoughtful, Sandy asked, "And about Seth? Couldn't love him more, but I know that he can be selfish and self-absorbed, we've all seen that he can talk way too much, there are lots of times when he's not much of a listener, and face it, he often take things – even people – for granted…"

Sandy paused, coaxing, "You guys can _stop_ me anytime here, you know."

"I kinda' _like_ his talking, sometimes," Ryan offered honestly, thinking that while everything Sandy said was kind of true, it didn't matter. Yeah, it'd be great if Seth got over himself a little, but in the end, the guy was his best friend… _hell_, even his pseudo-'brother', quirks and all. And he was pretty awesome.

Sandy snorted, "You like his talking when he takes the focus off of you, kid." His guardian waited until Ryan's eyes met his before warning gently, "Don't count on that so much going forward, either. Hiding behind Seth's words…" His guardian patted his arm a final time, before releasing him.

Ryan nodded and looked away, thinking it'd be safer not to say anything else. Afraid maybe he'd clue Sandy in on something _else_ to watch for in the future. But really liking those words – _going forward_. He was pulled back from his musing when Kirsten cleared her throat.

Arching her eyebrows, she nudged Sandy with a toe. "When you describe Seth's imperfections that way, I can't help but think…" She paused and smirked, "…he's clearly _your_ son, honey."

Sandy raised his eyebrows, before nodding and grinning a little crookedly. "_Clearly_. Good thing he gets all his _endearing_ qualities from you…"

Kirsten smiled warmly at Sandy for a long second, before allowing, "He might get a _couple_ from you…"

Ryan watched the pair exchange a look so intimate it made him blush a little, before they re-focused on him.

Kirsten's smile faded, as she leaned back in her chair, sighing, "And the fact we're here at Suriak tells my story all too painfully. I've been so angry, without realizing why. And hurt... but it was like I couldn't localize the pain. I'm still trying to understand the sources, because they're not all obvious to me. Not yet… but the thing is, I'm learning. I mean, we all make mistakes. But what comes next is the thing that's important. What we learn from mistakes. How we use that to grow. To change. How we move forward…"

She stopped, reflective. Ryan's stomach clinched, as he thought how _he_ had hurt her – with leaving, with Lindsey, with Caleb... He looked across at her, to see her biting her lip as she watched him.

She frowned slightly, before her face cleared. "Ryan, honey, I can almost guess what you're thinking right now. But, listen to me, sweetie. Don't worry that you're somehow at fault for how I'm feeling, because you're _not_. You, and Seth, and Sandy – you guys are the sunshine in my life."

He felt his color rising again, thinking his ears were probably turning a lovely shade of…salmon. She said such amazing things sometimes, so unexpectedly.

_Sunshine_? _Him_? Yeah, _right_…

Ryan's thoughts were interrupted as Kirsten stood up, and crossed to the empty space in front of their chairs. She sank down gracefully, resting on her heels. Gathering their hands in hers, she looked up and said earnestly, "So, newsflash – _none_ of us are perfect. I'm thinking that's okay – the real goal should be to keep learning and growing." She broke off, slightly off-balance.

Ryan twined his fingers around hers carefully, moving to the edge of his seat. His angled his legs supportively beside her body, steadying her with one hand.

Sandy reacted, too, moving closer and brushing back Kirsten's hair. Letting his fingers linger against her cheek.

Kirsten covered Sandy's hand with her own, pressing her cheek into his palm. Her other hand squeezed Ryan's tighter as she continued, "I love this family … the '_us'_ that we've created. You guys, Seth, and I. And yeah, there may be more perfect families out there, but none that _I'd_ rather be a part of."

She stopped to swipe at her eyes before continuing, "What I believe is this… as long as we've got _us_, we've got everything that matters."

Sandy leaned forward, and brushed her forehead with his lips. His lips lingered there for several moments, while she squeezed their hands tightly.

Pulling back, Sandy's dimples flashed across his face, as he teased, "I don't know, honey. Those more perfect families? Do you suppose one of them has a wife who can cook?"

"Not _funny_," she sniffed, smacking Sandy's knee but giggling a little under her breath. She stood up, motioning for them to stay seated. "Just give me a second, okay guys? This whole sharing thing is kinda' new for me."

She started to move away, but turned back, her voice lightly mocking, "And Ryan? Still loving you, honey. Sandy? Sweetheart? Not so much…"

Ryan slid back in his chair and glanced across at Sandy, who had turned puppy eyes toward his wife. "Come on, honey – you kinda' set me up…"

He watched as Kirsten feigned a glare, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. She allowed, "Okay, maybe I'm loving you a little, Sandy, when you look at me like that. I always wanted a shaggy black Briard…"

She sniffed again, rolling her eyes a little self-consciously before turning and walking several yards out through the palms.

"Do you need to be with her now?" Ryan asked, a little worried.

Sandy grimaced, as he settled back into his chair. "I think she's being honest about wanting a few minutes, but trust me, I'm watching. And I'll be right beside her the instant I think she wants me there. Earlier, if I think she _needs_ me…"

Ryan nodded, thinking that he'd have to trust Sandy on that one.

Sandy leaned his head toward Ryan, as though about to share a confidence. "You know, it's hard to figure out sometimes, kid. It's not always clear when to give someone their space, and when to step in. I don't always get it right, either. Sometimes I stay a little more distant than I'd like, because I worry that if I press too much? Get too close? I might make them uncomfortable. I might even end up driving them further away, when that's the very last thing I want."

Ryan flicked his eyebrows, wondering how to respond to _that_. He said softly, "I guess it kinda' works both ways, huh? 'Cause sometimes, maybe what they really want is for you to step in anyway…"

Glancing sideways he saw Sandy close his eyes, and rest his head back against the chair. His guardian's hand rubbed across his wrist, squeezing gently before patting and releasing it. "Good to know, kid," he whispered.

Sandy then changed topics, his voice non-committal, "What Kirsten said, about what matters? Some people would disagree, you know. They'd say it's the _things_. The _money_."

Ryan ducked his head, rubbing a finger against the armrest, as he responded quietly, "They'd be _wrong_."

Sandy raised his eyebrows, "I think so, too. Smart woman, your mother, wouldn't you say?"

Trying not to be too distracted by the 'your mother' part, Ryan nodded. "Kirsten's amazing."

When Sandy didn't respond, Ryan lifted his head to look at his foster father. He found Sandy smiling at him.

His guardian reached over to place a hand against his back, gripping his shoulder. "Yeah, kid, she _is_ amazing. And so are _you_."

>>>>>>>

When they were all re-seated, Kirsten was the first to speak. "You can't know how sorry I am about what happened with Trey. Sandy and I know that we share a lot of the responsibility for that, even if you can't see it that way right now. But believe me – we _heard_ you, honey. How you felt. How angry you were that night. How the loss of control scared you. And especially how you're not sure you trust yourself now."

Ryan grimaced slightly, forcing himself to face her. Her body was leaning toward him, her eyes soft and caring.

Her voice held back none of her feelings, as she said, "To tell us that? To risk sharing feelings that personal and intense? That was _huge_, Ryan."

He ducked his head, hoping that she'd stop there. That was far enough…

But she continued, "For people like you and me – who tend to keep things hidden – that would have taken enormous courage even if you knew exactly how we'd react. But to take that risk when the consequences must have seemed unclear to you, or worse? That says so much about your character, Ryan. I wish you could see that, like we do."

Ryan groaned, unwilling to touch what she'd said. Especially not that last part, about character. He'd heard about his character all his life, and precious little of it had ever been good.

Instead, he leaned forward, rubbing his palms nervously against his thighs, as he looked across as Kirsten. "So, exactly what happens now?" He swallowed, glancing over at Sandy and adding, "Now that you know about Trey?"

Kirsten rose, circling behind his chair, and then perching on the right armrest. She ran one hand through his hair before sliding it across his shoulders and speaking earnestly, "Now we move forward. We work through what happened. Figure out why it happened. Over time. Okay?"

"You mean therapy, don't you?" he grimaced.

"Got a better plan?" Sandy asked, a touch of challenge visible in his face.

Shaking his head, Ryan admitted, "Not really. But I don't know that it'll help. I mean, I don't know if _anything_ would help."

When his response was met by silence, Ryan bit his lip, and whispered, "But… I mean, I'm … I'll _try_ it, okay?"

He looked quickly at Sandy, who nodded, saying, "It's _time_, Ryan. And you won't be on your own – we'll be with you, kid."

Sandy touched him, waiting until their eyes met before he said seriously, "We've got to face your past, before it shapes our future."

Ryan shrugged and nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more. Wondering if he'd just made another mistake…

Kirsten leaned in, and kissed his hair lightly, "Thanks, honey. We'll look at some options, and figure out _together_ how we go forward."

She stood up, walking back to her seat as she spoke again, "But right now? We'd like to try offering you a little perspective. Hopefully help you see what happened with Trey a little differently."

Ryan wondered what _that_ meant. What different perspective was there? He knew exactly what he'd done…

He shrank back in his chair a little when Sandy stood up and crossed in front of him. Suddenly, he felt a little like a defendant about to be grilled by a very competent attorney.

Sandy paced a couple of feet, before stopping and turning to Ryan. "When you went to Trey's, before things escalated, tell me again. What were you planning to do? What do you remember?" Sandy's voice was even, but insistent.

Ryan closed his eyes, wishing he didn't have to go through this again. He'd answered Sandy's questions before. The thing was, though, he'd never answered them in front of Kirsten. And she deserved the same honesty he'd given Sandy, and nothing less. Suck it up, he thought, drawing in a deep breath before replying to a waiting Sandy.

He opened his eyes and started talking, answering as honestly as he could, keeping his eyes averted most of the time. Just stealing tiny glances at Sandy and at Kirsten as he spoke. "I'm not sure – it's not like I had any real plan. I just remember wanting to confront him. Make him pay for what he'd done to Marissa."

He looked up at Sandy, who was standing still, his hands in his pockets. His eyes seemed more sympathetic than Ryan had expected. Grimacing, he continued, "He _hurt_ her, Sandy. And then used her silence. 'Cause at one point, Trey actually accused _Marissa_ of coming on to _him_. And then I find out that he attacked her…"

He stopped, as he felt Kirsten's eyes watching him. He wished that she didn't have to hear this. Didn't have to hear him say the only word that described his brother's crime. That she didn't have to be reminded so viscerally of his blood, his family, or his shame…

But this wasn't about his discomfort. It was about truth, and Kirsten's right to know. He bit his lip, as he struggled to explain, "I mean, I find out that she wasn't covering up hooking up with him – she was covering up the fact that Trey tried to _rape_ her. That she had to beat him off of her! I wanted to punish him for hurting her like that. And for lying to me about it – trying to make it look like _she'd_ done something wrong."

That part wasn't as bleary. He remembered how angry he was when Seth told him what had really happened, he remembered grabbing the keys, he remembered driving over to Trey's apartment… Things got a little less clear from the minute Trey opened the door, and really blurry from the moment Trey pulled the gun…

He forced himself to face his foster father, waiting for Sandy to say something. Anything.

"So, you're saying at that moment, you were basically going over to Trey's apartment to kick your brother's ass?"

Ryan couldn't help himself. He looked at Kirsten's face, waiting for her to admonish Sandy for saying 'ass'. But other than a tiny frown, she made no protest. He guessed this was all too far from normal for the standard rules to still apply. He knew he'd already strayed far across their lines without being reprimanded. Still, probably not a great idea to push the Cohens, particularly Kirsten, while he had the faculty to avoid it.

He turned back to Sandy and shrugged, "Yeah, pretty much."

"You know the first thing you did wrong, don't you?" Sandy's eyes caught his, reiterating his question.

That was new – the question about his error. Sandy hadn't discussed where he'd gone wrong before. He'd merely sought to ascertain the facts.

Dropping his head, Ryan nodded. But it was clear Sandy wanted to hear words. "I shouldn't have gone over there," he whispered.

Sandy shook his head. "That's right, you shouldn't have. You should have found another option, kid. The obvious one would have been to talk to me, but Seth pointed out that I haven't exactly been around much this year. So I'll allow that maybe talking to me didn't seem so obvious at the time. But Ryan, we've got to find other channels for your anger than your fists." The parent voice was back.

Picking at the scrubs, Ryan felt his stomach clinching. "I know," he acknowledged softly.

Sandy nodded, "I _know_ you know. But that's not enough anymore. You know that, too, right?"

Looking up, Ryan nodded. He knew it all too well… _Shit, more therapy._

"Let's leave that on the table for a few minutes, while we finish talking about what happened that night."

Ryan ducked his head again, confessing, "I can't explain it, Sandy. When Trey opened the door, it wasn't just about Marissa. It was also about the car we stole that night, and some stuff that happened when I saw him in prison, and… I guess kinda' our whole history. When he pulled the gun – when we started fighting, that's when…" he stopped, dropping his head into one hand, unable to say the words again.

He felt Sandy's hand against his back, as his guardian sat down beside him. He wondered if Sandy felt his body tremble, as he fought against the tears that suddenly threatened.

"We know, Ryan," Sandy said gently. "We know."

Feeling more composed, Ryan mouthed the word "Thanks," before straightening.

Sandy nodded as he settled back into his chair, moving his arm back to the armrest, and placing it next to Ryan's.

Tapping his thumb against the armrest in an uneven rhythm, Sandy spoke evenly, "I'm curious. How'd Trey get the upper hand in your fight? I'd have thought you could have taken him pretty easily."

Surprised at the question, Ryan didn't answer right away. But Sandy just kept tapping, the sound like a timer run amok, counting down seconds haphazardly. Unclear when time would run out…

Ryan shrugged, finally explaining, "He's tougher than he looks, I guess."

The tapping stopped, as Sandy's eyes searched his until he ducked to escape their probing. Because the truth was Trey wasn't that tough. He shoulda' been able to take his older brother. It wasn't like when they were kids. Trey wasn't bigger any more, and he certainly wasn't stronger… But the fact remained that Trey had won the fight. At least, he should have… without Marissa's intervention.

Sandy resumed his tapping, as he mused, "You know what I'm thinking? Maybe on some level you weren't prepared to win. Didn't _want_ to win…"

Ryan found his temper rising a little. Maybe more than a little. _Crap. Was that the reason they were being so fucking understanding?_

He gripped the arms of his chair tightly, feeling Sandy's eyes on him, but refusing to look up. He made an effort to keep his voice in check, but it still sounded a little sharp as he answered, "Before Trey got the advantage – before he had me down, I beat the shit out of him, Sandy. I wanted to hurt him, okay? And I don't know about different levels – I just know as we were fighting, I wanted him to die. Some part of me, all of me? In the end, does it actually matter?"

The silence that followed was worse than a reprimand. What was he thinking? Sandy was giving him an out of sorts, and he'd thrown it back in his face. Ryan looked up, expecting to find his guardian's disapproving frown. But the frown the man wore was born of concern, not anger.

Swallowing, Ryan mumbled, "Sorry about snapping. I just… I guess it doesn't feel right, somehow. Claiming that losing the fight makes me somehow less culpable, you know?"

He saw Kirsten's head tilt, and heard her murmur, "Oh, honey…"

Sandy just shrugged, pulling his hands into a steeple in front of his face as he replied, "I'm just saying, I think it's something you should explore. Because I still don't see how he could take you, unless you _let_ him…"

Ryan chewed on his lip for a few seconds before responding quietly, "I'll think about it, okay?"

Nodding, his foster father pressed his mouth into a line. Letting out a breath, Sandy continued, "About what happened, after you got to Trey's apartment. Do you know what I see?" He raised his eyebrows.

Ryan forced himself to face his guardian, as he slowly shook his head from side to side.

Sandy smiled a little sadly, as he asked gently, "Are you willing to listen, kid?"

Ryan snorted softly, "No choice. I promised, remember?"

>>>>>>>

Sandy settled back in his chair, facing ahead, much as though they were in a car with Sandy at the wheel. Ryan settled back as well, staring straight ahead as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming too rapid.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Sandy turn his head and quickly glance at him, before focusing resolutely on his hands while he seemed to collect his thoughts. Sandy began to push determinedly at his cuticles, his voice resonant with carefully controlled emotion as he spoke, "I see a kid… who's haunted by events from his past, and who is freshly traumatized by images of his girlfriend being attacked. Not by some stranger, but by someone this kid wanted to believe in."

He pushed harder at his nails as he went on, "I see a boy who's been brutally betrayed by his older brother."

Sandy frowned and shook his head disbelievingly as he kept talking, "I see this kid's brother unthinkably threatening his life with a gun. But I know it's not the gun itself that triggers the reaction. You see, I've seen this kid face down a gun in the hands of a lunatic, and stay calm. And I know of at least one other time it happened, when his friends were threatened at a party… But there's a difference. It's because this time, the _hand_ on the gun belongs to his _brother_. And I think it probably doesn't matter at that moment _why_ the brother does it – maybe he's scared, maybe he's feeling trapped, maybe he's jealous… Who knows? The fact that he does it _at all_ hurts so damned bad, it's impossible to breath."

Ryan ducked his head, as he swallowed hard. For not having been there, Sandy had a pretty good imagination. Because even Dawn's leaving hadn't cut as deeply as had Trey's callous contempt for his life.

Sandy continued, saying, "I see a single moment in time – when the gun is drawn? When a brother makes the ultimate threat? I'm not sure… but there's a time where the past and present intersect tragically, bringing out old anger, and pain, and frustration, and mixing it together with the new violence and betrayals. It's like adding fuel and sparks to a long smoldering fire. And the result? Sudden, intense, uncontrolled combustion."

Sandy's voice was thick, but tempered by reason. Ryan found himself listening, thinking this version of what happened somehow played differently from the one stuck inside his head.

His guardian went on, "And then I see a kid that's simply reacting to all this powerful stimuli… who's been forced by circumstances largely beyond his ability or capacity to control to a place where he's operating largely beyond conscious thought."

Ryan barely breathed as his foster-father pressed further, "Basic human instinct urges this kid to fight for his own survival. Behaviors he's been exposed to… has lived with growing up… have taught this kid to use his fists, to settle scores, and to punish a betrayer. And that's just about all this boy's got to go on.

"And so this kid fights fiercely, but not hard enough to win. Because he couldn't? Or because his better angels wouldn't let him?" Sandy shrugged ambiguously, before adding, "I have my opinion, but regardless of whether or not I'm right, it doesn't change my feelings."

As Sandy paused, Ryan winced, realizing that he had been pressing his fingers cruelly into his bicep, the pain keeping him focused and present… Listening, and not just reliving the horror of that night.

He felt his guardian's body leaning toward his own, as Sandy's voice took on more urgency, "_But this much I know_ -- this _extreme_ behavior doesn't reflect who this kid _is_, on any conscious level. It's certainly not who he _tries_ to be, or who he _wants_ to be, or who he _will_ be in the future."

"And I can't forget, this is a kid facing a situation he should never have had to face. That he _would_ never have faced, if he'd been parented properly. If he'd had someone watching out for him."

Massaging his upper arm, Ryan searched for some response. As the silence lengthened, he gave up, mumbling only, "I don't know… I just … I don't know…"

Ryan felt Sandy's hand at his back, as his guardian said softly. "But maybe I _do_, Ryan. I've seen kids go through trauma like this, had clients who found themselves in similar circumstances… It's horrible, and heartbreaking, and utterly human. But in the end, Ryan, what happened with Trey is _understandable_, and what's more, it's _forgivable_."

"That was _never_ even a question, Ryan," assured Kirsten, swiping at her eyes.

Ryan wondered how long he'd forgotten to breath, as he sucked in air. Sandy's hand rubbed his back slowly, as he took several deep breaths before he spoke. Keeping his eyes carefully focused ahead, he summoned up his courage.

He couldn't keep his voice from shaking, as he put the question that haunted him into words, "So, you don't see … just… just some kind of _monster_?"

"_No! Never! _Ryan, sweetheart…", Kirsten's head was tilted, and her eyes were wide with concern. Ryan saw her look to Sandy, as she seemed too overcome to speak further.

Ryan ducked his head, embarrassed at having sounded so pathetic. He felt Sandy's hand move to his shoulder, as his guardian spoke, "You're not a monster, Ryan. Not even close. Just a seventeen year old kid, caught in a tragic situation. Without the … _support_, or the _tools_… you needed. Operating on instinct. Trying to survive."

Sandy pulled him closer, waiting until Ryan glanced up at him before finishing, "_Trust_ me, son, on this one. Until you learn to trust yourself."

"Please, Ryan?" Kirsten echoed. "For now?"

He needed to breathe. He needed distance, to breathe… Lurching to his feet, he stammered, "I… I need time…"

He saw the concern on their faces, and sought to reassure them, "I'm okay. That is, I'll _be_ okay…."

He saw Sandy's eyes searching his face, and quickly added, "I _really_ want the distance this time, Sandy. _Please?_"

Kirsten nodded, and Sandy smiled understandingly. "Okay, Ryan. But don't stray too far, and don't stay away too long, kid."

"Or what?" Ryan asked hesitantly, "You'll come after me again?"

Sandy looked up, his mouth curled into a half-grin, "You can _count_ on it."

Flicking his eyebrows, Ryan said softly, "Good to know…"

>>>>>>>

Grateful for the reprieve, Ryan found refuge inside the bath-house. He leaned against the mirrored wall, feeling its chilled surface against his back. He stared at the fountain, concentrating on the water as it tumbled and fell over the uneven face of the field-stone wall. Gradually, his breathing became less ragged, as threatened tears subsided. He drew in deeper breaths, exhaling loudly, until he could think again.

He allowed his back to slide down the cool plane of the mirror, until he was seated on the marble floor.

Ryan wondered if the Cohens understood the value of the gifts they had offered him so readily.

Their _understanding…_

Their _forgiveness…_

Why couldn't he simply _take_ them?

Why not _embrace_ the version of his actions that Sandy offered? A version he could _live_ with…

Why not _accept_ Sandy's vision of himself as true? Someone not _yet_ _beyond_ _redemption_.

Ryan let his head fall back against the mirror, recognizing that within his questions lay his answer.

It always came back to the same thing, since the day that he'd first met Sandy, and the man had brought him home …

_The deep unanswered and ever-present 'why?' _

_>>>>>>>_

_tbc_

A/N 2: Yet again, my deepest thanks to _everyone_ who pauses to review – it's so very much appreciated. Your voices matter – I read and learn… To those of you who routinely take such time, and share such intriguing thoughts and insights, a very _special_ thanks.


	11. Chapter 11

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Simply borrowing… (The only things that are mine are any errors.)

(Edited, and I think improved...)

A/N: For all of you who haven't given up on this story, my heartfelt greetings… I've been house-hunting, packing, and moving, so I haven't had much time to devote to writing these last two months. Next chapter should be the last one – maybe a short (for me!) epilogue, but we'll see.

So once again, welcome to my AU.

A/N 2: My section markers in this chapter are '7's', because I know FF won't eat them up when I post the document.

**7777777**

**Time: 30 minutes after end of Chapter 10, close to noon of Day 5**

Kirsten tried to stop herself from the inane counting of every second.

One more second without the effect of alcohol to dull her senses. One more second in which she grew increasingly anxious about Ryan, who was still off somewhere by himself – trying to sort through everything they'd said to him – alone…

She knew all about trying to cope alone. Both the attraction, and the peril.

_Don't over-react. Don't over-react._ The words ran through her head like a mantra.

Three seconds each time…

She'd sought distraction. She'd supervised the staff when they'd come to refresh the food and drinks. She'd spoken _very_ briefly to Dr. Woodruff about starting family counseling sessions, not wanting to be gone again when Ryan reappeared.

He'd read so much into her absence earlier – so much that wasn't true. But how could he know that? How could he know she wasn't going to leave him? Like he'd been left before? Was he doubting her right now? This very second?

_Don't over-react. Don't over-react. _Six more seconds ticked away.

She forced herself to eat another spoonful of the vanilla yogurt and raspberries she'd fixed for herself, when Sandy had insisted that she eat. She didn't want them, but she didn't want to argue with Sandy over something so unimportant. Not today. She might have to pick her battles, and breakfast would not be one of them.

But now she'd run out of things to do, and there was still no sign of the teenager returning to them. She was a little afraid the boy would retreat too far, perhaps even deciding that closing them out was preferable to opening up enough to let them in.

Kirsten looked across at her husband, who was sprawled in his chair, face turned up toward the sun and eyes closed. If she didn't know him better, she'd think he was relaxed. However, she recognized the small twitches of his fingers, and the occasional tightening of his mouth for what they were – the man's mind was working overtime, underneath that deceptive veneer of calm.

"Sandy, he's been gone for thirty minutes," she said softly, trying to keep the anxiety she was feeling out of her voice. Even as she said the words, she realized thirty minutes might not seem so long to someone else. She also recognized how hard it was to tell which of her feelings were authentic these days… the withdrawal from alcohol left her feeling anxious, too.

But this concern she felt? About her often too self-contained foster son? She was positive that this was real.

Sandy's eyes, now open wide, searched her face. Her voice had betrayed her after all – he knew her too well to be fooled. She knew him, too – knew what he was thinking. She was sure he was still worried about her – about whether she was up to this, so soon after her arrival at Suriak.

"I'm okay, Sandy," Kirsten assured him, hoping that he'd believe her, even if she wasn't quite sure she believed herself. One thing she was sure of, though – she would get through this – after all, she was Caleb Nichol's daughter… She watched as Sandy rose to his feet, his eyes narrowed.

"Are you sure, honey?" he asked, his voice low.

Determined, she insisted, "_Hear_ me, Sandy – no way am I missing this time with Ryan – this is simply too important, for all of us."

His eyes captured hers, holding them while he seemed to look inside her, searching for the truth behind her words. He spoke softly, "He'd understand, and so would I, sweetheart. If this is too much right now…"

Kirsten frowned, hating the weakness that prompted her husband's words. She didn't want this to turn into something about her… this was supposed to be about _Ryan_. As much as she appreciated Sandy's sensitivity, sometimes his ability to read her was a problem. Right now, she wished he'd simply pay attention to her words, and not delve beneath them.

Heeding lessons learned from her father, she steered the topic away from herself, going on the offensive instead. This battle she would fight.

Ignoring Sandy's concern, she pressed, "Sandy, I'm worried that Ryan's been gone too long. That he's been alone too long."

She watched his face as he sorted through competing thoughts, satisfied when she saw him slowly nod. _Good_. They were back on track, with Sandy's attention focused once more on the teenager, rather than on her issues. Because focused on Ryan? Was absolutely where they needed to be…

Sandy joined her, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She allowed herself to lean backwards just a little, until she rested against his chest. He nuzzled her hair, as he answered quietly, "We've thrown some pretty big concepts at him, honey. He's a smart kid, but he's going to need time to process some of this. We can't expect him to simply accept what we're saying, when some of it probably feels pretty foreign to him, especially now."

She nodded, certain Sandy was right. Sandy had an insight into some of Ryan's thought processes she only wished she shared. In so many ways, his connection with Ryan was deeper than her own – the level of trust between the two of them something she often envied.

And yet, there were times she thought she might understand her foster son better than her husband did. She understood his need for silences, his tendency to keep secrets, his reticence to talk, his caution before he trusted… In some ways, he was much more like her than Sandy.

Kirsten cautioned, "I know the comfort of distance and silence, Sandy. The need, sometimes. But I also understand their danger…"

She felt his arms stiffen a little, before he asked tentatively, "Are you saying you want me to go get him?"

She turned her head back toward Sandy, as she responded, "No, Sandy – not you. _I_ want to go this time."

She saw the surprised look on her husband's face, as she turned her body so that she faced him.

"He's _my_ son, too," she insisted, noting the lifted eyebrows of her spouse.

"I know," he said a little sheepishly. "It's just…"

As Sandy's voice trailed off, his thoughts having obviously been edited mid-sentence, she crossed her arms and stared at him.

"It's just that you don't think I'm as comfortable talking to him as you are," she said flatly.

Her husband's eyes told her she was right, even though for once the man seemed lost for words.

She tilted her head in resignation, unfolding her arms as she spoke, "Honey, it's okay – you're not wrong." She pressed her hands against his chest as she acknowledged, "I admit, I'm not as good with Ryan as you are… but don't you see? I want to be."

Sandy reached for her hands, and held them between his own, as his eyes connected with hers. "You know how much that kid loves you, don't you? How he responds to your smallest gesture?"

She glanced down at their locked hands, before looking back into Sandy's eyes, "Trust me, Sandy, I pick up on a lot of Ryan's non-verbal language. But right now, I'm more worried about what he's been picking up from me. I've sent so many mixed messages lately, he's gotta' wonder which ones he should believe…"

7777777

Splashing cold water against his face, Ryan contemplated going back outside where the Cohens were waiting for him. He was certain they were ready to talk again, even though he was still having trouble absorbing the stuff they'd already said this morning.

In the abstract, he could almost wrap his head around some of it. He could even admit how much he wanted to believe, to accept… their words. Words that made most of the dreams he'd ever dared harbor pale in comparison… He drifted for a moment, lost in possibility, before catching himself.

Shit. What was he doing?

He pulled himself back firmly, having learned long ago the danger of dreaming. Any time he'd ever let himself go down that road, reality had slammed its way back into his life, knocking him flat on his ass. So why should this time be an exception?

Because even if he got some of the things the Cohens said, there was still so much he didn't get. That was so far outside his own experience he couldn't really grasp it.

That's where the danger lurked, wasn't it? In all those shadowy crevices and corners created when different worlds collided. And the ill-fit between Chino and Newport? The Atwoods and the Cohens? Left room for countless shadows…

What if he got things wrong? Misunderstood what they were saying?

Could he risk taking a giant leap of faith, reaching out for what it seemed the Cohens offered? Putting his heart on the line again?

Wasn't there some point where a heart was finally mangled beyond repair?

His life was replete with pain inflicted by those he'd loved… who he'd thought were supposed to love him, too.

Like the ache he always associated with Dad, who he'd tried so hard to please, only to fail at every turn.

Or the more complicated scars that related to his mother. He tried to recall when she had become less 'Mom' and more 'Dawn', but it had happened so gradually he couldn't nail it down.

Had it been when Dawn had become the needier one at home? When she'd become so lost she couldn't find the strength to try mothering again? How much was his fault?

The stolen car two years ago had been the final straw, he supposed. With that transgression, he'd become another failure for her – obviously one more than she could handle.

Even though he believed she still loved him in her own warped way, it said something about him, didn't it? When his own mother didn't want him with her? When she'd abandoned him repeatedly?

And despite everything, she was still his mother. If she'd walk away, wouldn't anybody else?

Eventually?

He groaned, as the ebb and flow of regret and resignation washed over him. How many times could he go through it all again? The rejection? The broken promises? The pain?

Dad and Dawn – one lethal; the other bordering on pathetic. Both too hurtful for words.

He squeezed one shoulder tightly, his face contorted as he wrenched his mind away from his parents.

Avoiding his most recent trauma for a few minutes longer, he turned his thoughts instead to a 'less-related' source of heartbreak. The girls he'd actually allowed himself to care about.

Theresa. Marissa. Lindsay.

He'd been so hesitant to admit his feelings for any of them, even to himself. And what had happened when he had? Every time he'd suffered… even when no one was really at fault. And heaven only knew the pain that he'd caused them.

And now…

His hands reached out for the marble countertop, gripping the edge. He leaned heavily into his arms, as he drew in a ragged breath.

'Cause now, there was this whole thing with Trey.

This wound was the deepest of all, its edges jagged and raw, its depth and breadth littered with fragments of trust, allegiance, love, and loyalty. While their relationship had certainly been tested growing up – all too frequently cracked and bent through the years – he'd never completely given up on Trey…

Despite all their differences, somewhere in his head he'd still believed they shared some impregnable bond as brothers. He'd counted on Trey to be there for him when things really mattered. Regardless of their longstanding arguments and in spite of their recurrent fights, they had survived one hell of a lot of crap together.

It seemed that it had always, in the end, been he and Trey against the world…

Until the night when it _wasn't_ anymore.

He'd never felt as alone as he had that night at the hospital… not knowing if Trey would live or die. Sure that regardless of Trey's fate, he'd lost his brother. Sure, because this time, he was walking away. He had to.

Because next time, they might just finish what they had started.

Already basically fatherless and motherless, as of that night, he was also brotherless.

He'd wondered sometimes which was worse – to have no family at all, or to have a family that didn't want you. Or that you didn't want – whichever… That night, he thought he finally had an answer to his question – he couldn't imagine how anything could be more painful.

He'd practically ignored Seth and Sandy at the hospital – already mentally separating himself from the foster family he assumed would kick him out… They certainly had good reason.

But they hadn't. At least, not yet. Amazingly, despite everything he'd done wrong, his foster parents were telling him they loved him.

He closed his eyes, and drew in a deeper breath, exhaling slowly. He'd lost a huge piece of his heart to them already – he knew that. That ship had sailed ages ago. But even so, until now he'd been careful to protect himself as best he could. He coached himself relentlessly – expect nothing, appreciate everything, don't disappoint, repay their kindness any way he could…

He shook his head, thinking how he'd failed them – and himself – on so damned many levels this time.

And not only had he messed things up horribly just now – he'd consistently withheld things from his foster-parents. He'd kept his secrets tucked away, not wanting to burden the Cohens with his past. Not wanting to suffer though the embarrassment and humiliation he'd felt a million times before, anytime anyone had looked too closely at his life.

Only now, Sandy and Kirsten had made it pretty clear hiding from his past was no longer an option. He'd have to face his memories, in order to move toward any future with them.

Could he do that? Trust them that much? Enough to let them see inside his world?

And even if he could, did he really have a future with the Cohens?

Seriously, how many screw-ups could he possibly have left? While Seth might forgive almost anything, Sandy must have his limits. He had to be getting pretty close to maxing out, didn't he?

And Kirsten? Who'd been so kind today? Surely, she must still have about a thousand reservations.

After all, she'd never seemed entirely at ease around him. And like him, she withheld pieces of herself, rarely letting down her guard completely. It wasn't that she was ever unkind – she wasn't. At least not if you didn't count what she'd said at her intervention, and he didn't.

She was always pleasant, always thoughtful, always generous – but also always… what?

Hesitant? No, not exactly.

What then?

Cautious.

She was almost always cautious. And that was understandable, wasn't it? Considering who she was dealing with, it made perfect sense to him.

But now, when he deserved it least, she… actually, all of the Cohens… were throwing caution to the winds as they reached out to him so powerfully.

Could he meet them halfway? Could he reach out, too?

Long seconds passed while he debated the answer to his questions. In the deepening silence his heart finally whispered 'Yes'.

_Being with them was worth almost any risk… _

But this time a stronger voice inside his head prevailed, not allowing him to ignore the lessons he had learned so painfully through the years.

Like Kirsten, he had to be cautious.

Very, very cautious..

After all, until he could figure out why they even wanted him, how could he be sure he wouldn't fuck this up, too? Just like he always managed to do?

7777777

Padding through the lobby, the marble floor felt cool and smooth under his feet. The crystal water tumbling over the fieldstones murmured into the stillness, its liquid language expanding to fill the room. Thinking how grateful he had been for this oasis, Ryan turned toward the wall of water, and let its soothing sounds flow through him one last time before he went back outside.

He stood still, breathing deeply, staring at the fountain.

Catching sight of himself in the back wall of mirrors, he shook his head at what he saw.

_Shit_.

He was a fucking mess.

Bare feet, eyes that had already threatened betrayal more times today than he cared to think about, and freakin' pink pants. Even his t-shirt and solid blue button down looked ridiculous paired with the scrubs.

He rolled his eyes unhappily. If he showed up anywhere in Chino looking like that, he'd get his ass kicked for sure. Hell, even the Newport set would smell blood. 'Cause the fact was, Seth looked less defenseless than he did right now.

And that was just the superficial stuff…

Fuck. He hated looking so damned weak.

He took a few steps toward the mirror, eyes narrowed as he stared more intently at his reflection. One fist clenched and then slowly unclenched, as a frown passed across his face.

He straightened his shoulders and set his jaw, concentrating. He didn't have to reach very far inside, to find the darkness. He ducked his head, and drew in a deep breath, before raising his face once again, and staring down his nose at his reflection, his eyes now smoldering.

He snorted softly, as the boy in the mirror seemed far more ominous than only moments ago, pink pants notwithstanding. He shook his head slightly, not sure whether he was more troubled or relieved at his ability to do dark so easily.

He grimaced, deciding finally that this reflected image was no more real than the one that he'd created last year. And hell, the fact was he could fix his outward appearance…

What he had no idea how to fix was everything else.

Because if anyone could see inside?

Yeah, well – how he was feeling on the inside made that initial outside view look pretty good.

Because on the inside, he was still… lost.

Although maybe not as … hopeless. And wasn't that at least something?

"Ryan?"

He jumped, startled. He hadn't heard her enter the bath house. He closed his eyes, and took a breath, thinking there was a time when he would have never been taken by surprise like that… a time when any lack of vigilance could end badly. When had he stopped paying close attention to his surroundings? And had he just made another critical mistake?

Because, that sounded like fear he heard in her voice…

Opening his eyes, he glanced at her reflection in the mirror, before turning to face her. She was twisting her rings, and her brows were drawn together slightly.

"Sorry, honey. I didn't mean to scare you," she apologized when their eyes met.

She sounded nervous.

He shook his head, assuring her, "No, it was my fault. I didn't hear you come in… uh, did you… were you there long?"

She shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his, "Long enough."

_Fuck_. He bit his lip, pretty sure that he'd just scared her.

Blinking, he ducked his head.

He was a fucking master at self-sabotage, able to screw up just about anything. Even looking into a freaking mirror.

Maybe he was wrong before. Maybe he was hopeless after all…

But he'd be damned if he was going to be spineless as well. He raised his head again, and faced her, steeling himself for whatever she might say.

She spoke carefully, "Are you okay? You looked so…" her voice trailed off, as though she thought better of what she had been about to say. A frown passed across her face, as she seemed to struggle with her thoughts.

"Dark?" he finished for her, deciding there was no point in hiding. She'd seen what she'd seen.

"I was going to say 'unsettled'," she explained, her eyes cloudy.

He shrugged, not certain how to answer her. When she just stared at him, head tilted, he blinked again and swallowed. He gestured briefly at himself, saying, "It's just that… I'm not exactly at my best, okay?"

Her eyes softened, as she said quietly, "I saw the transformation you just made… going from looking like a kid who's maybe feeling a little vulnerable to someone who's more than a little intimidating."

He thought about telling her what she'd seen wasn't real, but that wasn't exactly true. Because as much as the Cohens might wish otherwise – as much as he might wish otherwise sometimes – the darkness was part of him. He'd used it in the past… to protect himself from people and things that could hurt him. That did hurt him. He'd used it to protect others from harm, too. Or at least to try protecting them. So how could he deny it? Did he even really want to?

"Sorry," he mumbled at last, not sure what else to say.

She shook her head dismissively, taking a couple of steps in his direction before stopping. She waited until he met her eyes before continuing, "You know what ran through my head as I was watching you? I was thinking… in a way, you just reminded me a little of myself. Sometimes, before one of our Newport Group events, I'd stand in front of a mirror and put on my 'game face', before dealing with people who I knew were looking for my weaknesses. Who thrived on other people's failures and anxieties. The Kirsten that I'd show them always looked confident, and completely self-assured, even if I wasn't necessarily feeling that way. I was determined they would see no weakness they could exploit. I've used the same 'game face' other times, too, like when I've felt cornered or nervous or scared."

Ryan bit back a snort at Kirsten's comparison of her game face with his. But to be fair, the Newport crowd could be intimidating – just in a different way. Not physically, but certainly psychologically. All he had to do was remember Caleb Nichol to understand that truth. So maybe she wasn't so completely off-base with her analogy.

And if any part of her cool confidence were an act, it'd been a damned good one -- he'd seen the Kirsten she described, and had believed she was everything she appeared to be. He was still pretty sure that most of what he had seen was the real deal. No one was that good of an actor, were they?

She smiled a little self-consciously, twisting her rings again, "I just wanted you to understand – I get why image can be important. That showing any weakness can feel very threatening. Or that simply appearing weak can be frustrating… I won't pretend that our situations have been the same, or that the things that threatened us were similar. It's just… I'm thinking maybe our reactions are not so far apart sometimes. That's all I'm saying."

Ryan ducked his head, wondering what he was supposed to say. He couldn't imagine anyone less like himself than Kirsten. "You'd never hurt anyone," he said, looking up uncomfortably.

"That's not true. I hurt _you_, at my intervention" she said simply. "And you're one of the three most important people in my life…"

He stood immobile, not really prepared for that revelation. Certainly not expecting to hear her define his place in her life quite that way. _One of three?_ Words failed him, yet again.

"Ryan? We're going to make mistakes sometimes. All of us. But an important thing for you to remember is that you're _safe_ with us. You don't need to hide your feelings. Whether you're happy, sad, excited, frustrated, hurt, angry, confused, whatever you're feeling – we're here for you, honey. One day, I know you'll understand that. For now, all I can do is keep telling you that it's true. And hope you'll trust me just a little, until that day comes…"

Ryan stared at the floor, noticing the veins in the marble as Kirsten spoke. Following them as they splintered and twisted across the floor, reminding him of his tangled thoughts.

Some things were not so hard to think through. Like, he did trust her – maybe even more than a little… and he felt safer with the Cohens than he ever had felt in his life – not that that was saying a lot.

But as for the rest of what she said? He'd spent his whole life trying to be who other people wanted him to be, shoving his own thoughts and feelings so far inward or to the side that he wasn't sure he could even recognize them, let alone express them – even if he wanted to…

Luckily, Kirsten didn't seem to expect a reply, as she changed topics by asking gently, "Are you ready to come back outside, honey?"

Relieved, Ryan glanced at his watch, realizing he'd been inside the bath house for over forty minutes. "Sorry. I didn't realize how long I was gone."

"It's okay, Ryan. We just wanted to make sure you were okay. This time, I told Sandy _I_ wanted to come find you. I gotta' admit, I'm glad you weren't back out in that nasty fish-filled water, but I would have gone in there, too, for you."

"But you hate the ocean," Ryan pointed out, surprised she'd even thought about wading into it.

"True," she admitted, crossing the rest of the way to where he stood. She took his hands in hers, as she tilted her head and smiled sweetly at him, "But Ryan? That doesn't matter – what matters is that I love you."

Her voice seemed to envelop him, as did her words.

Unsteadily he searched her face, the tenderness reflected in her wide blue eyes hauntingly reminiscent of how his mother used to look at him years ago. When she'd sung to him, way back in Fresno. When he and Trey and _Mom_ had laughed together.

Before her world had collapsed into a bottle, its dimensions growing ever smaller as the alcohol's hold grew stronger… Until finally, there was little left of Mom or Dawn for either of her sons.

He had honestly never expected to see that look again, but there it was, in Kirsten's eyes.

For him.

_Incredible_…

He stared at Kirsten's hands on his, summoning his courage. Saying the only words that he could think of that came anywhere near expressing what was running through his head, "It means more than I can say…_your_ coming to find me. That is, that you wanted to. That … that you_…" _

He stopped, too self-conscious to continue.

She moved one hand to caress his cheek, her fingers light against his bruises, as she whispered, "Believe me, Ryan, Sandy's not the only one of us who's not about to let you go."

Ryan blinked, as her words wound themselves around his heart. He wondered briefly if there was some special hell you could be consigned to for loving another family more than you loved your own…

He drew in a deep breath, as he stared upward, avoiding her eyes for a moment. Exhaling shakily, he looked back at her, offering softly, "You're … you're one of my… three, too."

He watched as her eyes widened momentarily before her smile overtook them. He looked away, certain that he was going to lose it if she said anything to him.

She squeezed the hand she still held, and brushed back his hair, waiting until he turned his focus back to her.

When he dared to meet her eyes, they were dancing. She surprised him by asking, "So, I was wondering… am I off the hook for the scrubs?"

Relieved, he grinned, glancing down at the almost forgotten pants. "I don't know if I'd go that far… They're still pink, Kirsten."

"Salmon," she objected in mock indignation, sliding her arm around his waist, lightly urging him toward the door as she nodded her head in the same direction. "Let's go, sweetie. Sandy's waiting for us."

"Waiting's not exactly his strong suit," Ryan observed, as he fell into step beside her.

"You noticed?" Kirsten laughed, and then grew reflective once more. "You know what? For two people who aren't exactly renowned for being good communicators, we did pretty well just now, I think."

Reaching the door, Ryan moved to open it for Kirsten.

He pursed his lips, and nodded affirmatively, "We just save our words for when they count."

"And today counts…" she mused, almost to herself, as she slid past him to the outside.

He shook his head as he let the door close behind him, "Today _really_ counts."

7777777

Kirsten was pleased to see Ryan interested in more juice, and some cheese. The boy didn't eat nearly enough, especially compared to Seth. Weren't teenagers supposed to be ravenous? Unlike Ryan, who all too often merely pushed food around on his plate rather than eating it.

She spotted Sandy on his cell-phone, noticing the frown he wore. Leaving Ryan to finish his selections, she joined her husband just as Sandy was flipping the phone shut. His frown had deepened.

"Is anything wrong, Sandy?"

Sandy shrugged, his frown disappearing. "I'm not sure. I had a message from the ADA asking me to call her, but she's at court now, and won't be able to get back to me for a while."

Kirsten put her hand over her heart, as though she could slow its sudden throbbing. "Aren't you meeting with her late this afternoon?"

Sandy's arms wound around her, as his voice became more reassuring, "That might be why she called… at least that's what I'm hoping."

She twisted inside his embrace, so that she faced him. "You mean to cancel?"

He nodded, "No need to meet if they're not bringing charges…"

"So why the frown?"

He sighed, running one hand up and down her arm as he explained, "Sid's assistant didn't know why she called me – but then she said that Sidney had mentioned something about a warrant being issued for 'Mr. Atwood'."

Kirsten sucked in a small breath, as she felt cold hands winding around her heart. Hesitantly, she whispered, "But surely she meant for Trey? Not Ryan…"

"It's the only thing that makes sense, given Trey's confession," Sandy answered quietly.

She wished his voice sounded more confident, but maybe he was merely being cautious. After all, Ryan's future was at stake.

She nodded, stepping back. "So, I guess we wait."

Sandy grimaced, "It won't be long. She's due back from court in about an hour."

Kirsten turned toward Ryan, who looked like he had almost finished the small plate he'd fixed for himself. Looking over her shoulder at her husband, she asked softly, "Are you going to say anything to him?"

Sandy shook his head, "Not about this – not until I know something definite." He stepped up, placing one arm around her shoulders, as he smiled, "But trust me, honey, I've got plenty of other things to talk to him about."

"When do you ever not have plenty to talk about?" she mocked, laughing as he playacted being wounded. She felt lighter, somehow. Sandy could do that for her… with his words, his touch, his compassion. How could she have _ever_ forgotten that?

"I've missed this," she whispered. "You and I united."

His arm pulled her tighter against his body, as he whispered back, "Oh, honey, so have I."

7777777

Ryan settled back into the same chair he had occupied earlier, interested to see that Sandy and Kirsten were about to follow suit. There was something to the concept 'creatures of habit', he thought, a little amused at their predictability. Even if in the broader sense, that concept didn't bode too well for him…

"You ready, kid?" Sandy asked as he sat down.

He turned to his guardian, and said quietly, "You don't need to do this, Sandy. Don't feel like you're obligated to say anything else, okay?"

Sandy's face fell a little, before he quickly recovered. Locking eyes with Ryan, he said earnestly, "It doesn't have anything to do with obligation. I want to do this, kid."

Ryan ducked and looked away, not sure whether he'd just hurt Sandy's feelings. He hadn't meant to… he'd only wanted to let his guardian know his earlier words and actions were enough… more than he'd ever expected.

Sandy's hand covered his wrist, forcing him to look back. Seeming satisfied, Sandy removed his hand, keeping steady eye contact instead. The man's enormous brows raised and lowered affably, followed by a tiny, dimpled grin. The humor in his voice was unmistakable as he complained, "Ryan, you're killing me. I've been waiting all morning for _my_ turn, and like it or not, kid, I _refuse_ to be denied."

Honestly, the man was impossible. And pretty much undeniable. Ryan glanced across at Kirsten, and found her smiling.

Offering advice, she counseled, "Believe him, honey. You know Sandy's all about words, and if he can't get them out, he just might choke on them. Seriously."

She extended one graceful foot to poke Sandy in the leg. "Poor baby…" she teased.

Sandy's face seemed to light up, his dimples deepening, as he caught her foot in his hand and held it in place next to him. She laughed, the sound sweet and warm, as she nudged her toes under Sandy's thigh.

Ryan watched in fascination as they looked at one another, speaking volumes without saying anything at all. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't just leave them alone. If they'd even notice he was gone…

He stirred slightly, surprised when Sandy's hand quickly covered his wrist again, this time locking him in place.

"Not so fast, Ryan. I'm sorry. It's just…"

Ryan laughed, "It's okay, guys. It's good – it feels good, to see you two acting like…well, like _you_."

Sandy relaxed, releasing his wrist and settling back into his chair. "That's one of the things that makes you special, Ryan."

He rolled his eyes at the word 'special'. It apparently didn't take much to be special, he thought, as he clarified, "What? Not grossing out over your PDA?"

Sandy shook his head, waiting until Ryan looked at him to answer. "Well, that is a nice change-up from Seth's reaction, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking more about how it's important to you that we're happy together. You're attentive to how others feel. You notice. What they want, what they need."

Ryan felt his ears burning again. Embarrassed, he looked away, mumbling, "I usually just screw things up."

"That's not how I see it, kid. Not even close."

The conviction in Sandy's voice was unmistakable. And at the same time, given all the evidence to the contrary, unfathomable. Ryan drew in a shaky breath, cursing to himself as he felt the telltale burning in his eyes. He deliberately twisted his body, the shaft of pain from his battered ribs causing him to wince and hiss sharply. Better that than tearing up in front of them like some girl…

_Fuck!_ He hated being so freaking fragile.

Sandy immediately reacted, "You okay, Ryan? Do you need some of your meds?"

Glad his voice didn't betray his unsteadiness, Ryan answered, "I'm fine – just moved wrong, that's all." That was the truth. Just not the whole truth.

Glancing quickly up at them, he saw Sandy and Kirsten both eyeing him before looking at one another. He saw Kirsten's head nod slightly, before Sandy turned back to him.

His guardian moved the arm resting beside his, so that his hand rested on Ryan's shoulder. "Look at me, Ryan."

He complied, biting his lip to keep his focus. Determined he'd get through the next few minutes, dignity intact.

Sandy smiled at him, the smile settling in his eyes.

Ryan tasted blood as he bit harder, ducking his head.

He felt Sandy's hand slide to the middle of his back, and the man's upper body tilt toward him. Sandy's words came in the form of questions, "Do you have any idea how much I love you? How much you mean to me, Ryan?"

_How much? _He was still struggling a little with 'if' and a whole damned lot with 'why'…

Hoping the questions were rhetorical, Ryan stayed silent. He didn't have an answer, and he didn't trust his voice anyway.

Sandy sighed loudly, standing up and motioning for Ryan to do the same.

Hesitantly, Ryan complied, not ready for another body hug. He figured this time he'd probably lose it, and that wasn't happening if he could help it. Especially not in front of Kirsten…

To his vast relief, Sandy merely wrapped an arm around his shoulder, explaining, "Those chairs are too confining, kid. Let's climb back up on the rocks, okay?"

Ryan shrugged. At this point, he really didn't care where they gathered. Whatever Sandy wanted to do was fine with him.

"Not without me, you don't!" Kirsten admonished, jumping up and joining them, sliding one arm around Ryan's waist extra-carefully as though she were afraid she might hurt him.

How odd, he thought, when her touch always brought such comfort.

7777777

Perched on rocks out of the range of the salt spray, Ryan shared one large slanting bolder with Sandy, with Kirsten sitting slightly higher to the left. Sandy finally seemed comfortable, as he stretched his legs out in front of him and sighed contentedly.

Ryan swept the face of the boulder with his hands, sending some small pebbles flying across the face of the rock, and plummeting down into the rocky crevices. He leaned back against his hands, trying to relax. Sandy had settled only inches away from his position – not touching him, but well within his personal space. Sandy had a way of doing that – encroaching on his boundaries. But with Sandy, the effect was usually a feeling of intimacy, not intimidation…

As Ryan was reflecting, his guardian turned to him and said quietly, "I can't tell you why I've never said the words, Ryan. Maybe because I was afraid they'd make you uncomfortable. Make you panic or think about bolting. Maybe because I didn't think I'd earned the right to say them… I know you have your own family. That you had a life before you came to stay with us, and that I need to respect that."

Ryan gathered several loose stones in one hand, turning them over and over as he thought about the family Sandy worried about respecting. He crunched the stones harder against one another as he thought about the life that he had lived before the Cohens took him in…

"Ryan?"

Realizing he'd zoned out a bit, he tossed the pebbles away, and rubbed his palm on the scrubs, leaving a trail of dirt. Feeling Sandy's eyes focused on him, he looked up at his guardian. "You don't owe me any explanations… I get why you feel like you do. About respecting families, I mean. Your family, anyway."

Sandy reached out, placing a hand at the back of his neck, and touching his face with his thumb. Ryan froze, as Sandy's eyes bored into his own.

His guardian corrected him softly, "Not my family. _Our_ family, Ryan."

He nodded, averting his eyes. Staring at Sandy's elbow, willing himself to keep it together.

He felt Sandy's hand drop to his shoulder, squeezing carefully until he looked back up. Sandy's expression was tender as he pressed further, "I just want you to understand – I'd never ask you to choose one family or the other. I'm just saying, we're your family, too."

Looking quickly across at Kirsten, Ryan found her eyes. She shook her head slightly from side to side, answering his unspoken question. She hadn't said anything to Sandy about their conversation in the bath house.

Ryan lowered his head, focusing on the flaw in Sandy's thinking. Choose? Not exactly an issue, was it? Because his family had already chosen… and he hadn't made their cut.

He felt Sandy's grip on his shoulder grow tighter, as the man leaned closer toward him. Ryan looked up, finding his foster-father's deep blue eyes level with his own.

His guardian's voice actually cracked a little as he spoke, "Kid, it's like this_ – _I couldn't love you any more if you were my biological child. The simple fact is, you are mine where it matters most, Ryan."

Sandy's other hand rose to his chest, as the man whispered, "You're here, inside my heart."

Ryan stared into his foster father's eyes, transfixed. He was almost afraid to move, in case he'd wake up and find that this was all just some amazing dream. It almost had to be, didn't it? If something's too good…

He could barely breath, he wanted this so badly… for Sandy's words to be true. He'd never wanted anything as much in his life.

Slowly, he started to duck, but his guardian's hand cupped his neck again, forcing his head back up. Staring straight into his eyes, Sandy finished his thought, "This much I know, Ryan – I've got two sons now, and I love you each more than life."

As Sandy dropped his hand back down to rest upon his shoulder, Ryan closed his eyes tightly for a moment, willing himself to breathe. He didn't trust his voice enough to speak, even if he could have come up with words that expressed anything close to how he felt.

In the ensuing silence, he heard Kirsten sniffing. Glancing across, he saw a tear she hadn't managed to catch tumbling down her cheek, before she wiped it away with her fingers. She smiled crookedly as she admitted, "I'm such a girl…"

Ryan's throat burned, and his eyes stung. He was more than a little afraid he was going to go the 'girl' route, too.

"Let's take a second, kid", his guardian suggested, much to his relief. Sandy's hand fell away, breaking the physical connection. Giving Ryan a little needed space.

"'Kay," he mumbled, before drawing his legs up and silently collapsing his head onto his knees, his eyes pressed against the salmon cloth. He was glad that the fabric didn't seem to show when it got wet, because it had just saved him from imitating Kirsten. Glancing surreptitiously sideways at Sandy, he noticed his foster father swiping quickly at his eyes, too.

Shit. They were in the middle of some freakin' cry-along… What was next? Kum ba yah?

And yet, these tears couldn't have felt more different from the ones he'd associated with 'family' all his life. He snorted softly – ironic, wasn't it? To be so far from pain and still be crying…

When he raised his head, Sandy smiled. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He couldn't help smirking a little as he challenged, "You?"

Sandy grinned, "Are you mocking me, kid?" Feigning indignation, his guardian warned, "Well, don't think for a second that you're gonna' keep me from finishing what I started."

Ryan tilted his head, frowning while he scoffed, "As if I could…"

Sandy stared at him a beat before smiling, "You know, sometimes I have a hard time remembering what life was even like before you joined us."

Ryan looked away, remembering all too clearly.

"Son?"

There was that word again. Did Sandy even realize he was using it?

"Ryan?" Sandy's voice was more insistent, demanding his attention.

Dragging himself back from his reflections, Ryan acknowledged his foster father, "You were saying?"

Sandy's voice had a careful edge to it this time, "Seth told us something last night we hadn't realized before, kid. He said originally you weren't planning on coming back to us last summer, after Theresa lost the baby. That he didn't think you would have come back, if he hadn't."

Ryan made a note to talk to Seth about that little revelation. Not that it wasn't true, but Seth really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut sometimes. He looked out across the Pacific, trying to buy a few seconds while he figured out how to answer.

Kirsten broke the silence, "Independent of your relationship with Seth, we want you with us, Ryan. You're more than Seth's friend, sweetie. You're part of this family, all on your own. If we haven't made that clear to you in the past, we will going forward."

Ryan ducked his head, as he admitted softly, "It wasn't like I didn't want to come back, you know… "

He felt Sandy's weight press against him, as the man leaned into him before speaking, "But you didn't feel comfortable coming back without Seth, did you?"

Swallowing, he opened his mouth, but didn't speak. He shrugged instead, not really sure how else to answer.

Sandy straightened, sighing. "I can't blame you, kid, for wondering. For doubting us, after we let you leave last summer. I know it must have felt like we didn't put up much of a fight… Once you made the decision to go, we didn't stand in your way."

Ryan looked up in surprise. He hadn't expected this topic to come up again. He'd gotten past it, hadn't he? More important, hadn't they?

Sandy raked one hand through his unruly raven locks, shoving the hair briefly off his forehead, before he offered, "Over the last couple of days, I've been thinking a lot about last summer, when you went back to Chino. How I let you leave then. But Ryan, I only let you go because I was afraid to stop you. Afraid that if I said 'no', like I wanted to, you'd leave anyway, and we'd end up losing you for good."

"Losing me?" he repeated dumbly, thinking how nearly he'd come to losing _them_ back then. How he'd made assumptions at the time, built around their giving him permission to leave so readily, and around Seth's angry flight. Assumptions which had led him to turn away from almost all the vestiges of his life with them.

Until the cosmos had conspired to rearrange his life another time. Sandy's plea for help, Theresa's failed pregnancy, and Seth's decision to go home had all intersected, somehow leading him back to Newport and the Cohens.

Ryan's focus was pulled back to the present, as Sandy placed his arm around Ryan's shoulders, leaning into him. His foster father's voice deepened, "When you left last summer, I was hoping we'd be able to convince you to come back, once the shock of everything had worn off. Once we'd all had time to look at other options."

Ryan grimaced before responding softly, "Theresa's baby wasn't ever gonna' be your responsibility. I couldn't do that." He flicked his eyes across at Sandy, "Let you take that on…"

He felt Sandy's arm tighten slightly, as his foster father countered, "I understand why you'd think that, but I'm telling you, we would have _made_ something work. You see, we learned something important when you left, Ryan. Not only did we miss your being with us, we also realized how …incomplete… our family was without you."

Ryan blinked, as Sandy's words penetrated his defenses. Could it have really been that simple? Their reason for not resisting his leaving? Because as much as he'd tried to deny his feelings, it had hurt – their letting him go so easily last year.

He glanced at Kirsten, who smiled sweetly. "Listen to Sandy, honey. Neither of us wanted you to go, but we were both too afraid to try to make you stay. We didn't want to fight with you – in the end, we figured you'd probably go anyway, without our okay. So, better you left with our permission, so we could keep all the doors between us wide open, than if you left angrily. We were so afraid you'd slam all those doors shut… permanently…. behind you."

Ryan pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, not sure what to say. Sure he should say something…

His eyes sought Sandy's, and then Kirsten's, as he stammered, "I never thought… I didn't know… I just…" He stopped, and shook his head, wishing he had half of Seth's facility with words. He felt so damned obtuse sometimes, when he couldn't voice his thoughts.

Watching as Kirsten sent a troubled glance toward Sandy, he hastily tried again, his voice sounding a little like it had been rubbed with sandpaper, "Thanks. For explaining why you didn't try to stop me. I... It means a lot, okay?"

He felt Sandy's hand rub across his back, "We wanted to make sure you understood. That last summer didn't color your impression of how very much you're wanted, son."

Ryan pressed his lips inward, as he nodded that he'd heard. He tilted his head back and sucked in his breath, before attempting to speak again. His voice wavered as he hedged, "I hear what you're saying, okay?"

Kirsten edged toward him, as she warned gently, "Better get used to hearing how much we love you, Ryan. How important you are to us…"

She waited until he looked at her, her eyes embracing him, before she finished her thought, "How _ours_ you are."

He closed his eyes tightly, as he felt her voice. Ducking his head, he focused on the scrubs, tracing the trail of dirt he'd smeared across them with his forefinger.

Steeling himself, he offered hesitantly, "I probably won't get this right, but guys? If… if I could have anyone in the world as my parents? I'd want you…"

He lifted his eyes when he felt Sandy squeeze his shoulder once again. Two sets of eyes were trained on him, their expressions eerily the same. Kirsten sniffed and smiled warmly, before answering, "That works perfectly, Ryan. Because you've got us… right where we want you…"

Sandy grinned, "Or vice-versa. Take your pick. Either way, you just made my day, kid. Maybe my year…" His guardian's hug was so enthusiastic it took him by surprise.

Sandy loosened his grip a little as he added, "And you just reminded me of another thing I'd like to talk about – actually two things – related to your turning eighteen this year. I have to fill you in on a conversation I had with Child Services – don't worry – they're pissed with me, but it's all gonna' work out. And I wanna' talk about some legal options we'll have – that we want you to think about – when you reach eighteen. But let's save those topics for a little later, okay?"

Ryan nodded hesitantly, wondering how many more topics they had to cover. Good thing Sandy had a meeting this afternoon, or they might be here all night…

Sandy's face took on a serious expression, as he leaned in closer. Ryan wrapped his arms around his knees, anchoring himself for the next onslaught of words, although he couldn't imagine what else his guardian could possibly have to tell him. He stared at the Pacific, looking sideways as Sandy prepared to speak again.

He felt the man's weight pressing into him, as Sandy's head tilted toward his. His foster father's voice was steady, but he didn't hide his emotion as he spoke, "How I feel about you? Just to clarify, Ryan – it's not based on your behavior, or your friendship with Seth."

Sandy placed a hand against his back, as he continued speaking, "I'm committed to you because in every way that matters to me, you're my child."

Ryan gripped his knees tighter, as Sandy's hand moved to his shoulder.

Now the voice that spoke to him grew even more serious, "So, hold on to these truths, kid – the big ones. First, I accept you for who you are. And if you're worried you don't know who that is right now, trust us to know. Until you figure it out for yourself. We'll help you. You don't ever have to be anyone else, Ryan. You don't have to pretend."

Ryan drew in a deep breath, as he saw Sandy's eyes hunting for his own. He averted his eyes, wondering what would happen if he just keep staring straight ahead. He really needed at least that much space…

His answer came when Sandy continued speaking, his words barely above a whisper, "Second, I'll always love you. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Next year. _Forever_. _Unconditionally_."

This time his foster father didn't pause, "Third, I will always be concerned about your happiness and well-being, and I'll do everything in my power to provide for you and to protect you. You may not always like what that means – like the therapy we talked about – or saying 'no' sometimes – but going forward, I'm going to make sure you have what you _need_, even if it's not always want you _want_. I'm looking at your long-term happiness, kid. And when we start thinking long-term, you'll find that not every transitory pleasure is worth the price tag."

As his guardian grew silent, Ryan sorted through the 'truths', wondering how he could hold onto stuff that big.

He felt Sandy's hand squeezing his shoulder, as the man asked gently, "Ryan, I'd really like for you to look at me. Please?"

He turned his face toward his guardian, meeting his guardian's eyes with his own. Ryan felt the impact of each word, as Sandy continued softly, "I want you to understand this, son. This promise." His voice grew more insistent, "I will never desert you. _No matter what_, Ryan. You're my kid. I'm your father. And nothing in this world's ever gonna' change that."

Ryan felt locked in Sandy's gaze for a long moment, before he ducked his head, his mind churning.

He swallowed hard, knowing he had to ask the questions he'd avoided for so long, even though any answer he might remotely want to hear eluded him…

His voice was thick, as he fought to shape the words.

"But _why_, Sandy? I mean, even if I come anywhere close to understanding what you're saying, I honestly don't get… the why."

"Why?" his foster-father repeated, his voice registering some element of surprise.

Ryan nodded, hoping Sandy read him, like all those times before. That he would somehow understand what Ryan couldn't say. He mouthed only one word, "Please…"

You're asking me why I love you?" Sandy asked softly, his eyebrows gathering.

Ryan shook his head, as he clarified, "Why _me_?"

Sandy's eyes searched his face again, obviously seeking information than Ryan had not given. His eyes were soft, as he nodded his head knowingly, "You're finally asking, aren't you? The original questions… Why I brought you home…" His voice trailed off, inviting Ryan to respond.

"Why you let me stay…" he offered in return, before his throat closed up.

Sandy's voice was gentle, "It's okay, Ryan. I think I can take it from here."

Scooting closer, Kirsten modified Sandy's words, "_We_ can take it from here…"

Ryan saw the apologetic glance his foster father sent her way, and her forgiving nod. She'd surprised him yet again – unlike so often in the past, she wasn't letting Sandy deal with him alone this time. She'd made it clear today that she was in this, too.

That said something, didn't it? Something hopeful?

All the more reason not to fuck this up…

He heard Sandy clear his throat softly, and turned to face him. "There are so many answers, Ryan, to what you're asking. You impressed me, that first day. You had to have been terrified, but your first concern was Trey…"

Ryan protested automatically, "But he's my…" He stopped, caught in current reality. Wrapping his arms around his midsection and scanning the horizon, he finished uncomfortably, "That is, he _was_ my brother."

Sandy sat silent for a moment, before he said carefully, "One day, Ryan, he will be again. It's gonna' take time, but I believe that it'll happen. And we'll be close beside you when it does."

Unwrapping his arms, Ryan nodded, before insisting, "That's… that's a different conversation, Sandy."

Sandy raised his eyebrows slightly, before acknowledging, "Yeah, you're right. It is…" He swiped his hair back off his face, as he continued, "You do that a lot, though. Think of others first. It's part of who you are. As for other things? That first day? Your test scores blew me away, kid. And that little spiel you concocted about longevity and social security? Told me your reasoning skills matched your IQ. The fact is, you reminded me… well, of me."

Ryan snorted a little, remembering his first impression of the shaggy-looking public defender. Shaking his head, he countered, "Yeah, well – I've always had a knack for smart-mouthing – usually to the wrong people."

Kirsten covered her mouth with one hand, hiding an indulgent smile. "So has Sandy," she pointed out, her eyes sparkling.

Sandy confirmed, "See? That's what I'm saying…"

"Cut from the same deck…" Ryan mused.

His foster father drew back, obviously surprised. "You remember that?" he asked.

Ducking his head, Ryan confessed, "I remember pretty much everything from that day…"

He heard Kirsten draw in her breath loudly.

Shit! What had he been thinking?

He could practically hear the guilt in her voice as she spoke. "There are some things I kinda' wish you could forget. I mean… I know I wasn't very… receptive … at first. But Ryan – that all changed after I spent time with you."

He caught her eyes, wincing when he saw how unsettled they looked. Choosing his words he sought to reassure her, "Please, Kirsten – it's okay. Really. I liked that you were so protective of your family. You didn't know me – I was just some kid from juvie that Sandy let loose in your house. Your pool house, I mean. I thought you were awesome… that is, that you'd kick out anyone who you believed might hurt your son."

Kirsten actually blushed a little as she stammered, "You did? You thought I was awesome?"

"Definitely," he answered, pleased to see a new smile form and spread into her eyes. He felt his own color rise a little as he added softly, "You still are."

She tilted her head, pressing her hands against her heart, as though she had captured his words there. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to – her eyes spoke for her.

After a moment, she raised her eyebrows and looked across at Sandy. "Did you hear that, honey? Our son thinks I'm awesome…"

"Like I said, he reminds me a lot of me"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "And that's a good thing?" he deadpanned.

Sandy grinned, as his eyebrows shot up. "No, it's not." He slapped his hands against his thighs as he countered, "That's a _great_ thing, my friend. What I'm saying is this: Razor-sharp intellect. An avid aversion to plastic people with entirely too much money and far too few ethics. Resilient, in the face of adversity. And a keen appreciation of how… awesome… Kirsten and Seth are."

Ryan grinned back a little, "When you put it like that… I see the resemblance."

Sandy smiled affectionately, before his face became more somber, "Seriously, Ryan – that was the main reason I brought you home that first night. I'd been where you were once, and someone helped me. When I spoke to you that day, I saw myself."

Ryan flicked his eyebrows up, as he confessed, "I thought you just felt sorry for me. I kinda' hated that… I mean, I was grateful. I _am_ grateful, but…"

Sandy stopped him, stepping on his sentence, "I know, Ryan. And you're not entirely wrong. After seeing Dawn, I worried about whether you'd make it. Whether you had any real prospects in what looked like might be a pretty toxic environment… I was really glad you called me that day. That you gave me the opportunity to give a good kid a second chance."

Biting his lip, he acknowledged Sandy's words, "I… I guess I get that. Sort of the 'pay it forward' idea, right?"

"Yeah, you could say that. That's a big part of what was running through my head back then. Although someone less generous could have argued it was something a self-righteous do-gooder might do to ease his conscious. You know -- make amends for living so obscenely large while so many others suffered."

Ryan nodded, thinking he could live with either rationale. They both were so much better than the 'pity' card he despised.

"And you let me stay because…?" he prodded softly. "Because of Seth, right?"

Sandy's lips tightened, as he shook his head, "Initially, yes, in large part. I won't mislead you – the fact that you two bonded so well was important at first. It was amazing, watching the transformation your friendship brought about. My sullen, broody, anti-social son became involved in life outside his room. He schemed, he plotted, he went to parties, he scammed his parents, he had two girlfriends at the same time – in other words, he turned into a teenager. You can't imagine how happy that made me." He glanced at Kirsten, amending, "Made us."

Kirsten spoke, "But Ryan, the longer you stayed with us, the deeper our feelings for you grew. By our first Chrismukkah…" She stopped, and smiled, "Remember the day you hung up your stocking? I knew then you'd become part of this family."

Ryan smiled to himself, as he recalled that day, too. How included he'd felt, in all the Cohen holiday madness.

Sandy's voice brought him back, as the man slid a hand across his back, "The honest answer to your questions? Why we love you? Why we want you with us? It's this simple, Ryan – it's because of who you are, son."

Ryan waited for the rest of his guardian's answer, finally realizing nothing more was coming.

He shook his head, completely baffled.

Where were all of Sandy's words? When he really needed to hear them?

_Who he was? _

What kind of non-answer answer was that?

'Cause he knew exactly who he was…

Frustrated, he ducked his head and whispered, "But Sandy, I'm… I'm nobody_."_

7777777

_tbc_

7777777

A/N3: Once more, many thanks to _everyone_ who takes their time to review – it's deeply appreciated. Your voices count – I listen… To those of you who have been so loyal to this story, and who've shared pieces of yourself, or given me such interesting viewpoints and concepts to think about, thanks so very much.


	12. Chapter 12

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

**Disclaimer**: The OC Universe, with all its assorted characters, belongs to Josh Schwartz, _et. al_. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended, nor is any money being made.

**A/N**: This is for those of you who haven't forgotten a certain lost and shattered boy who thinks he's 'nobody'… Welcome back to my AU.

This chapter is the beginning of our finale – the good news is that it's _all_ been written – 40+ pages, including these I'm posting – but I'm still reviewing, tweaking, and doing final editing. I'll post the sections as I've finished – probably in 3 to 4 more pieces over the next two weeks.

**A/N 2:** As always, all mistakes are mine.

**Time: Picks up immediately at the end of Chapter 11, early afternoon of Day 5**

_-------------------------------_

"_But Sandy, I'm… I'm nobody"_

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Unimaginable.

This kid?

This _exposed_?

Sandy was stunned.

He could almost smell the words – the acrid, poisoned fallout from years of neglect, abuse, and abandonment. He cursed the boy's abysmal upbringing, recognizing ever more clearly the extent of the scars Ryan concealed.

And then he cursed himself, because as much as he'd like to hold the Atwoods wholly responsible for this child's suffering, he knew he couldn't. He'd allowed Ryan's scars to stay hidden – even unconsciously encouraged the boy to hide them – ever since the kid's arrival in Newport. The agonizing truth was that the Cohens' inattentiveness, their reluctance to confront Ryan's past, and their own life-altering mistakes had battered the boy's psyche, too.

He drew in a deep breath, buying another second or two to think. Although the teenager's crushing self-assessment couldn't be more wrong, they needed to avoid triggering further self-doubt. They'd have to find a balance between acknowledging the boy's honestly held feelings and persuading him to consider a very different truth.

-------------------------------

Kirsten stared fixedly at Ryan's lowered head, not realizing she'd forgotten to breathe until her lungs started to burn. She drew in deep breaths as she blinked back the tears that gathered in her eyes. She couldn't risk Ryan looking up, seeing her heartbreak, and confusing it with pity.

He'd hate that.

She felt Sandy's attention veer to her, the feeling tangible and intense.

Turning, she met his eyes, just like she'd known she would. He didn't have to speak to assure her he saw what she saw – that he understood what they had to do.

She tilted her head as she whispered, "You or me?"

He silently touched his chest, and she nodded her assent. She mouthed the words "I'm here" before turning her attention back to the silent teen.

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Ryan could feel his palms sweating and his heart thumping inside his chest. Why on earth had he said those words out loud? He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that he could disappear.

He waited for one or both of his guardians to speak, telling him he was wrong, or crazy, or both, because really, what else could they say? He'd sounded so damned pathetic they'd have to disagree just because they were too nice not to.

"Ryan?" Sandy's voice was low.

Ryan froze, dreading being told how fucked up his thinking was. They'd mean well – he knew that. But he also knew that they'd be wrong.

He kept his head down, not wanting to see their expressions.

Sandy spoke again, "I hear what you just said, okay? That you see yourself as 'nobody'. I'd like to know why you think that's true. Can we talk about that?"

Ryan blinked, as he processed Sandy's request. He lifted his head just enough to peer up at Sandy through his eyelashes, surprised to see no trace of pity or reproach on the man's face.

Screwing up his courage, he forced himself to speak, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" He stopped, as his voice failed him. He swallowed hard, and tried again, "Can we please just forget I said… that I said anything? Okay?"

"Sorry, kid. I need to make sure I understand what was behind those words."

Ryan groaned. He recognized that tone – the kind one that still meant business. Drawing his legs into his chest, he wrapped his arms around his shins and buried his face into his knees. He knew he was hiding like a little kid, but he couldn't help himself.

Sandy spoke again, "I get that you don't want to talk about it, Ryan. It's just…"

Sandy's words ran together, as Ryan tried to tune them out. But he knew Sandy would just keep talking, because that's what the man did. Which meant there was only one way out of this conversation…

Abruptly, he propelled himself to his feet, the sudden movement causing a sharp shaft of pain to rip through his torso. He sucked in his breath and doubled over, clutching at his side.

"Careful, kid." Sandy scrambled to his feet, too.

As he struggled to breathe, Kirsten reached him, touching his arms lightly while bending down level with his face.

"Honey, are you okay?" Kirsten asked, one hand moving to the side Ryan still clasped. She straightened as Ryan straightened, her eyes glued to his face.

"Um-hmm," he hissed softly, even though it still hurt like hell.

Moving her hand to his back, Kirsten started drawing little circles with her fingertips. He closed his eyes for a long second, before biting his lip and blinking. He could feel the pain dissolving, receding to a dull ache as she continued to comfort him.

"Better?" she asked, after he had started breathing more normally.

"It's okay now," Ryan offered, feeling a little embarrassed that he'd reacted to pain like such a baby, and even more embarrassed at how good it felt to receive her attention. What was he, anyway? Seventeen going on five?

"Sure?" Kirsten asked, her eyebrows knitting together as she continued to watch him anxiously.

He nodded, relieved to see her face relax into a small smile. He managed a small smile of his own as he said quietly, "Thanks, Kirsten."

Her smile deepened as she stepped back from him, "Always, Ryan. Chapter Two of the Mother Manual, sweetie."

He ducked his head, thinking Dawn had used another manual…

"Ryan?"

Sandy's voice took him off-guard; causing him to quickly refocus on what had driven him to his feet in the first place. Unlike Kirsten, Sandy wasn't exactly offering comfort right now. He wanted words – explanations and admissions and who knew what else.

Ryan rapidly scanned the rocks, searching for the most expedient route back down to the beach. Surprisingly, Sandy had backed off a few feet, establishing a small distance between them. That was good – with any luck, he should be able to get past his guardian, even if his bruised body slowed him down a little.

"Ryan?" Sandy was using his parental voice again. "You need to be careful with those ribs, okay?"

As if he didn't know that. He knew how it worked: make stupid moves; pay a price. Say something stupid; pay a different type of price. Given the choice right now, he'd take the aching ribs.

He met Sandy's eyes for a moment, willing him to back off. When Sandy didn't react, Ryan countered, "What I really need? Is to end this conversation."

"Ryan, wait!" Sandy's voice rose as Ryan kicked himself into gear.

Ignoring the command, he darted as quickly as he dared across the boulders. He sensed Sandy's sudden movement, but was still shocked to feel the man's fingers seize his arm before he could make good on his escape.

Ingrained reflexes surged to the surface, telling him to strike out, or twist away, but this was Sandy, and he could only freeze in place. Eyes wide, Ryan locked in on the man's face, staring at him in disbelief.

He could feel his guardian's fingers digging into his bicep, burning his skin, holding him captive. His heart seemed to jump wildly inside his chest, in stark contrast to lungs which suddenly refused to move at all.

"Sandy!" Kirsten's voice was a sharp blend of surprise and reproach. Ryan saw her eyes flick across his face before they settled pointedly on Sandy.

To his vast relief, Sandy loosened his grip immediately, dropping his hand and backing up a step, "Sorry, kid. It's just… running away's not the answer. We've been running away from this conversation for almost two years – it's way past due, Ryan."

Freed, Ryan stood breathing erratically for several seconds, listening to Sandy's justification and trying to collect his thoughts. He saw the long look that passed between his foster-parents, and the nod Kirsten gave Sandy when they finally broke eye contact.

Sandy's eyes quickly sought his, their message echoed by his words, "Look, Ryan, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that – I didn't mean to set off your alarms."

Ryan closed his eyes, analyzing how he'd reacted. What had he been thinking, anyway? He'd just gone into panic mode with Sandy Cohen.

His foster father spoke again, "You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

He opened his eyes and nodded, but the troubled look Sandy wore prompted him to duck his head and add softly, "I know."

"_Never_, kid."

The sincerity evident in the man's voice made Ryan look up. He nodded again, before responding truthfully, "I know, Sandy."

The corners of Sandy's lips tugged up into small but grateful smile, as the man reached out to cup Ryan's neck. "Good."

Ryan sucked his lips inside his teeth, maintaining eye contact as long as his could before ducking once again. Thankfully, Sandy released him before his self-control completely waned.

Not so thankfully, Sandy pressed, "We really need to talk about why you feel like you do, Ryan."

Kirsten moved slightly, coaxing, "Ryan, I think we can help. At least start a dialogue…"

He looked up to see her staring at him, head tilted as she fingered her rings.

Damn. She _would_ ask.

Ryan's mouth twisted as he stared down at his feet, wrapping his arms around his midriff.

Kirsten picked her way across the rocks to Ryan's side, placing her hands on his arm, "Will you trust us, sweetie? Please?"

Ryan closed his eyes, continuing his silence. He could feel her fingers warm and soft against his skin. Slowly, he sensed his resistance starting to whither.

How did she do that to him? What was it about her touch?

Sandy reached out to squeeze Ryan's shoulder, as he added his own "What do you say, kid?"

They let their hands fall as Ryan unwound his arms. Uncertainly, he wiped his palms on his scrubs before forcing himself to look up at his guardians, first at Sandy, and then at Kirsten.

"If we just drop this, I'll do whatever you ask. Go wherever you send me without any resistance, I promise. Okay?" He looked at them hopefully, surprised to see the startled look that passed between them.

Kirsten shook her head. "Where we send you? What do you mean?"

He swallowed, tugging nervously at his watchband, "Isn't that what happens next? I mean, it's the formula, right? I've agreed to get help, and now you send me away? Not like here – I get that…" His voice died, as he let himself think about where he might be headed. Assuming for the moment that didn't involve incarceration, which Sandy seemed to think was now unlikely.

He felt Sandy's hand squeeze his shoulder, as the man's eyes found his own. "You think we plan to send you away to a clinic?"

He felt his face flush as he realized how presumptuous he must have sounded. "Of course not," he quickly assured them. "I'm guessing something more like some sort of boot camp, maybe. For teenagers who…" He hesitated, before saying the words, "Who act like me."

Kirsten dropped her hands, as her eyes widened in horror. "Ryan! Boot camp?"

Her eyebrows drew together and her lower jaw dropped open as she shook her head. "Listen to me, sweetie. I want you to forget about anything like that, okay? I can't imagine anyone who needs 'tough love' less than you do."

She raised one hand to touch his face, her eyes softening. "We want you closer than ever, honey. Nurtured and secure inside our home. Inside our family. With Sandy and Seth for right now. And I'll be home as soon as I can, too. Do you understand? As for getting help, honey – we'll find a therapist nearby that we can work with on an outpatient basis – someone we all feel good about. That's what we meant when we talked about therapy before."

He dropped his eyes, as what she was saying registered. He could still feel her fingers against his cheek.

"Ryan?" her tone was soft but insistent.

He didn't trust his voice, so he nodded slightly. When he felt her fingers fall away, he glanced at her. Her head was tilted, and her eyes were scanning his face. She rewarded his eye contact with a pleased smile.

Sandy squeezed his shoulder, cajoling, "So, what do you say, kid? You've trusted us this far, and that's huge, Ryan. All I'm asking is another few steps… Is that possible?"

Groaning, Ryan turned on one heel, breaking the physical contact with his foster father. His back to both his guardians, he took a few steps toward the ocean, moving to an adjacent boulder. He stood there, half expecting Sandy to come after him again.

He stared hard toward the horizon, where sea and sky blended together in a steel blue blur. After a long moment he glanced sideways, noting gratefully that Sandy hadn't moved.

Sighing, he finally spoke, "Look, if… if I could come anywhere close to explaining, it'd just dredge up the kind of stuff that always makes you guys … uncomfortable."

Sandy nodded, his voice guarded, "I'm sorry we've made it hard for you to confide in us, kid. That's something we want to change, Ryan. Starting now."

Ryan struggled to stay composed as he offered softly, "I'm not… it's just… the 'whys' you want answered? Aren't so clear."

"So what if I take a shot at some of the 'whys'? See if I might understand some of the factors that play a role in how you see yourself right now?" Sandy raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Ryan frowned, "Just to be clear – what happens if I say 'no'?"

Sandy's lips curled up as he gave a tiny shrug. "Depends. Would your 'no' be because you'd rather answer for yourself?"

Ryan said nothing, until the ensuing silence prompted him to respond, "Sorry. I just… I thought that last question was rhetorical."

Nodding, Sandy grinned, "Understandable. So, let's just pretend it was, which means I'm gonna' give this a go. The thing is, I need you to guide me if I get off track, okay?"

Ryan shrugged. Let Sandy read that however he chose.

-------------------------------

_tbc_

**AN 3**: Reviews greatly appreciated…


	13. Chapter 13

_Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

**Disclaimer**: The OC Universe, with all its assorted characters, belongs to Josh Schwartz, _et. al_. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended, nor is any money being made.

**A/N**: Welcome to this AU – hope you enjoy the visit.

**A/N 2:** As always, all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER 13**

**Time: Picks up immediately at the end of Chapter 12, early afternoon of Day 5**

----------------------------

Ryan understood that part of his penance was 'lots of talking' coming his way today, and that he'd promised that he'd listen, but seriously, was it going to end?

One thing he was sure of – before he'd promise anything like this again, he was gonna' ask for a much clearer definition of what Sandy meant by 'lots'.

Kirsten looked like she might be wearing down a little, too. Ryan was not surprised to see her step back, nodding her head toward a large boulder just a few feet away before she spoke.

"I'm just going to be over there. Listening to you two."

Sandy's eyes tracked her until she was seated, before focusing on Ryan once more. Taking a step in his direction, the man spoke, "You know, kid, I have tremendous respect for your observations. The things you say? How you read people? You're rarely off-base. I've come to rely on your instincts in ways I can't do with Seth. He's a sharp kid, too, but he doesn't have anything approaching your savvy when it comes to reading people or situations."

Ryan shifted from foot to foot, unsure where Sandy was headed. He shrugged off the compliment, "Survival skills, where I come from."

The smile that crossed Sandy's face was wry, "Yeah, I know. Needed 'em in where I came from, too."

His guardian ran a hand over his forehead, brushing back the black mane that threatened to spill into his eyes, "Your abilities to read other people aside, kid, I'd like you to keep an open mind when it comes to looking at yourself. Let me give you a few things to think about when you're doing your self-assessment, okay?"

"Because you think I'm wrong?" Ryan's voice was sharper than he'd intended.

Sandy shook his head, unfazed. "You can't be wrong about how you feel, kid. It is what it is. All I'm suggesting is that there might be some reasons you feel that way that really don't have anything to do with who you are. Make you a deal, kid. I explain what I'm talking about, and you decide if any of it applies to you. What do you say?"

Ryan frowned, realizing he'd played into Sandy's hands. "And by 'a few' you mean?"

Sandy grinned, "More than three, less than lots."

Not quite the answer he was looking for, but he didn't feel like pressing. It didn't really matter – he'd already promised, anyway.

He capitulated, "Whatever you say."

Ryan settled in for another barrage of words. Trying to balance listening to his guardian's words while maintaining distance from them, he found himself searching for any external distraction. Eyeing the hateful pink pants, he noticed a small nub in the material, and began picking at it as Sandy started to speak.

His foster father's voice was thoughtful, "So, I guess the first point I want to make is that how we view ourselves is often impacted by how we were socialized. As kids, the first experience of that usually comes through our parents. They're generally the ones who teach us which of our behaviors are acceptable, which ones are dangerous, which ones are morally wrong, which ones are endearing, and which ones are simply annoying."

Ryan snorted before he could stop himself. He saw Sandy's eyebrows fly up underneath his hair before the man grinned affably.

"I know, kid – you're probably thinking that the Cohen predisposition for talking is annoying. That someone failed to teach that lesson in our family."

Damn. The guy was good. Ryan's mouth pulled into a line as he widened his eyes in acknowledgment.

Sandy's grin deepened a moment before he went on, "Yeah, well, this much I know – as parents, we screw up sometimes – we're human, after all. Humans fail. Our parents all made mistakes. Their parents did, too. It's a matter of degree, I think. Did we go a little wrong once in a while? Or did we screw up often, or screw up really badly? And when we did go wrong, did we recognize it? Admit it? Apologize? Try to do better? Honor our promises? It all matters, more than you might think."

Sandy stopped, seemed to think a moment, and then smiled crookedly, "As for the talking? Deciding it's less annoying than it is endearing might be a Cohen parental error, I'm not sure. If so, I hope it's small one. Sometimes it's all in the eye of the beholder, you know? Or I suppose, in the ear of the listener."

A small smile flickered across Ryan's face and disappeared, as he pulled stubbornly at the nub in the salmon cloth, loosening a thread. Winding the thread around his finger, he started tugging, causing the cloth to pucker before the thread snapped and came out, leaving a tiny flaw in its wake.

His foster father spoke with care, his words measured and nonjudgmental. Ryan found himself following more closely than he'd intended.

"I know this isn't news, Ryan. The fact is that parents usually teach by rewarding kids for appropriate behaviors, and punishing them for the morally wrong, dangerous, or annoying behaviors. Rewards take a lot of forms – hugs, kisses, praise, privileges, material objects, sometimes money… And punishments take different forms, too. I don't have to tell you, punishments can be frightening and rejecting. The child who is reprimanded or struck often gets the message that he or she is, for the moment anyway, a bad person."

Ryan wanted to roll his eyes, but he stopped himself. A bad person? Yeah, well, what other message were you _supposed_ to get?

Hiding his frustration, he turned away slightly, focusing out toward the Pacific. Sensing his foster father's movement, Ryan tensed until Sandy came to a halt behind him, slightly to his right.

His guardian's voice was steady, "The thing is, even very young kids know – either consciously or subconsciously – that the family is the source of both physical and emotional support, and that their very survival depends on that support."

Sandy hesitated for a moment, probably to allow some time for him to think. Like he needed time. Honestly – he might not buy entirely into the emotional support bit, but he sure as hell understood the whole survival thing.

Seeming to sense his edginess, his guardian explained, "Look, what I'm trying to say is that we all grow up with the holdovers – the emotional fallout – from what we experience as children. We retain the memories of all those times we felt like we were wrong or bad – either consciously or unconsciously. The stronger our feelings of being wrong or not-okay were, the more likely we carry those feeling with us. The more likely they'll impact the way we see ourselves. Does any of that make sense to you?"

Ryan shrugged ambivalently, even as he felt his stomach growing restless. He gritted his teeth, and wound his arms around his body, determined to get through this.

Sandy asked, "Do you remember feeling wrong or not-okay as a kid, Ryan? Or since you've been with us?"

What kind of dumb-ass question was that? He heard himself snap, "Doesn't everybody? I mean, like you say, no one's perfect."

Nodding, his guardian replied, "I think anyone would be disingenuous to say they'd never felt that way. So, it's fair to say you've had times when you've felt that way? That's what I'm hearing."

Ryan nodded. Hell, he couldn't remember not feeling that way. He'd just hidden it better sometimes.

His foster father grew reflective, "There are things that influence how strong those 'not-okay' feelings become. Interested in what they are?"

He glanced quickly over his shoulder at Sandy, "You're going to tell me regardless, right?"

Sandy's head tilted as his eyebrows drew together in an exaggerated frown, "Am I that predictable?"

"Uh, Sandy? You and words? Kinda' like breathing and oxygen."

Sandy chuckled softly, "At least with me you know what's coming, and that's not necessarily a bad thing, kid."

Ryan ducked his head, willing to admit to himself if not to Sandy that it wasn't a bad thing at all. Even when the thing coming wasn't something he was looking forward to.

His guardian patiently resumed his lop-sided dialogue. "One thing that affects the degree to which a kid gets the message he's not okay is how common it is for his parents to mislabel matters of taste, personal needs, or good judgment as moral imperatives."

Turning his head, Ryan crinkled his eyebrows.

Evidently, Sandy read his question, since the man explained, "For example, say the kid does something like not performing a chore. Or suppose the kid doesn't like the color shirt the parent wants him to wear, or say he rides his bicycle on the street after dark – that type of thing – do the parents make the child feel like he's a bad kid? Like he's done something morally wrong?"

Okay, now he wasn't following completely. The examples he got. It was kinda' like when he'd lost track of time reading and didn't set the table, or when he'd complained about the haircuts his mom gave him, or when he'd stupidly tried to rescue some snarling raccoon from Eddie's fishing net and gotten his hands chewed up in the process.

Sandy questioned, "With me, kid?"

"Not sure."

"What's not clear?"

Ryan unwound his arms, stalling as he felt for the flaw in the scrubs and worried another thread out of the cloth.

When it became apparent that Sandy wanted words, he countered, "How are you defining 'moral imperatives'?"

The man explained, "A moralimperative is an ethical responsibility. Normally, you'd think of a moral imperative as a line of conduct or behavior judged as the 'right' one by the majority of people within a community or culture. Violation of those responsibilities is considered immoral, wrong, or bad. Not okay."

"So, you're saying what, exactly, Sandy? You don't do something you're supposed to do – isn't that a violation of an ethical responsibility? I mean, I guess that's what I don't get."

Sandy smiled, "Let's take an example, okay? Use Seth, since it's a little easier to use a third person. Let's say I tell Seth he has to take out the trash, and he doesn't do it. Is he a 'bad' person because he didn't take out the trash?"

Not sure how to answer that, Ryan held his tongue.

"Think about it, kid. Seth doesn't do something I tell him to do. Does that make him immoral?"

Okay, put that way he could answer, "Of course not."

Sandy's smile grew wider, "Exactly. Of course not. His behavior needs some adjustment, but he's not immoral – he's not bad – just because he doesn't do a chore. And he's not bad if he doesn't want to eat asparagus if we tell him to, and he's not bad if he rides his skateboard in the street – none of those behaviors is immoral. They may drive us nuts, because we'd like for him to eat healthy foods, or scare us to death because we love him too much to ever be okay with him doing something so inherently dangerous, but none of those behaviors make him an immoral or bad person. A disobedient one, maybe, but not a _bad_ one."

Ryan blinked, as Sandy's words sank in. "I think I get that."

"Good, Ryan, 'cause this is important to understand. You see, certain words and phrases carry heavy moral messages. When a kid hears his parents say that he's bad, or that he's lazy, or that he's foolish, or that he's a screw-up, they're sending moral messages. He might forget the event that triggered the criticism, or forget the exact words that were used. But the feelings of wrongness or not being okay that was associated with those often words stick with him."

As Sandy kept talking, giving more examples, Ryan found himself listening instead to earlier voices and a litany of older words. Words he'd never forgotten, no matter how hard he'd tried.

_Lazy brat. Thankless mouth to feed. Big mistake. Worthless piece of nothing. Fucking know-it-all… _The list went on and on.

Ryan shook his head as he wrestled the unwelcome memories back into their corners, struggling to listen to the man standing behind him instead of ghost words from his past.

He felt Sandy's eyes on him, even without turning around. It was almost like he knew when Ryan's attention drifted, and was waiting for him to catch up.

"Sorry," he felt compelled to offer.

He felt Sandy's hand brush his arm, "You're doing good, kid. I know I'm throwing a lot of stuff your way, but you're keeping up with me."

"I'm trying," he hedged.

Sandy altered his position slightly, moving a little more to Ryan's right. "We've talked before about the importance of distinguishing between behavior and identity. That a good kid can misbehave sometimes, but that the issue is the behavior – not the basic goodness of the kid. The thing is – parent who confuse behavior with the character of a child? Can end up raising children who don't see a difference between what they do and who they are."

Ryan shifted his weight from foot to foot, once more winding his arms around his body.

He felt Sandy's arm circle his shoulders, as the man stepped up beside him, "Look, kid, I know this is a tough issue for you right now – no guesswork there. You've told me. I understand this whole thing with Trey has been unnerving, and that the lines between who you are and your actions seem blurred to you right now. But trust me, I don't have any problem making the distinction, Ryan."

"I don't see how you can," he mumbled uncertainly, as Sandy's fingers tightened around his shoulder.

"One day, it'll be clearer, son. Until then, count on Kirsten and me to see the difference."

Ryan glanced sideways at his guardian, his color rising a little when he saw the warm smile that lit the man's face.

Raising his eyebrows, Sandy dropped his arm and opened up a couple of feet between them. Turning to face Ryan, he picked up where he'd left off, "Another thing that impacts self-esteem is how often a child hears negative messages. You know the theory about how propaganda works? You hear the same message often enough, and sooner or later, it starts to be believable? It works the same way with kids and the messages they hear. A kid keeps hearing his parents say things like he's disrespectful, or lazy, or hopeless and eventually, he gets the point. He's not okay. That make sense?"

Sandy's eyes were focused on his face. Caught, he nodded, "I guess so."

The right corner of his guardian's mouth pulled back approvingly as the man nodded.

"Consistency factors in, too. I mean, when a certain behavior, or breaking a rule elicits inconsistent responses, what message do you think is sent?"

Ryan wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer. When Sandy raised his eyebrows expectantly, he mumbled, "Never let down your guard?"

Nodding, Sandy agreed, "Yeah. Definitely that. But what about the behavior itself?"

Ryan raised his eyebrows and hitched his shoulders.

Sandy's eyes sought his, "Think about it. Suppose a particular behavior occurs and nothing happens, and then randomly the same behavior causes the parents to blow up, and the kid suffers painful consequences. Say that happens over and over, with different behaviors and different rules being randomly punished or ignored. So how's the kid going to feel?"

His guardian was asking him as if the man knew he'd know the answer. Pushing down the fact that that unnerved him a little, he offered tentatively, "Confused? Like, it doesn't really matter what he does, 'cause odds are it's never gonna' be right?"

Nodding, Sandy added, "Yeah, and maybe even convinced the real problem must be with him, rather than with his behavior?"

Swallowing, he replied, "Maybe. I guess."

Ryan found another loose thread in the scrubs, and yanked hard, causing the material to scrunch up around his thigh until the thread snapped. Great. Now he was destroying these sucky borrowed pants.

"Ryan?"

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to tell you how the stuff you're talking about relates to me?" He knew he sounded anxious – he couldn't help it.

"Is that what you want to do?"

"Not really."

To his surprise, Sandy smiled understandingly, "It's okay, kid. You want to share, I'll listen, and I promise I won't judge. But if you're not ready, that's okay, too. That doesn't mean I don't hope one day you'll be willing to share some specifics with me, but for right now, I just want you to have a framework – an understanding of how what we experience impacts how we see ourselves. I have tremendous faith in your cognitive abilities, kid. You can marry your experiences with what we've been talking about – see where it takes you."

That was not the answer he'd expected. His anxiety faded, "Seriously?"

"Seriously, kid."

Okay. That much he could try to do. He could at least think about. His eyes drifted from Sandy's face to his hands to the scrubs, resting finally on the growing flaw in the material.

He ripped out two more threads, some piece of him satisfied that a thin line of flesh was now visible through the cloth.

When he realized Sandy was waiting for his attention, he looked up, "Sorry."

Sandy touched his shoulder, "Stay with me kid."

Ryan breathed in deeply, nodding.

Seeming satisfied, Sandy continued building the frame he'd talked about.

"_How_ parents talk to their kids is big. When parents deliver their messages angrily, or violently, or when they threaten to or actually do leave a child, they send an extremely powerful message of rejection. We both know how potent those messages can be. And what the child doesn't see is that the parent's actions are usually related to the parent's own internal or external issues, and have almost nothing to do with who the child is, how good the child is, or what the child does."

Ryan blinked, averting his eyes to a point past his guardian's shoulders. Desperate to divert Sandy's attention, he queried, "You know about my Mom – I get that. But – the other stuff you talked about… Is all that stuff in my files?"

Sandy's voice was soothing, "Didn't have to be, kid. You've told me some things, Dawn and Trey have filled in a little more. Mostly, though, I see the results of what you lived through. The coping mechanisms you've picked up. The guardedness, the impossible standards of perfection you set for yourself, the way you're always apologizing for things that aren't you fault, your tendency to assume responsibility for anything that goes wrong, how often you assume the role of caregiver rather than child, how you react to anger, how you're hell-bent on fixing other people's problems even at your own expense, how you place your own needs or wishes last in almost any list of priorities – if you even acknowledge you have any."

He made himself face Sandy, offering a small lift of his eyebrows, "Didn't realize I was that transparent."

"I've had some experience, kid. I've worked with hundreds of kids over the years, but I've had some personal experience as well."

"Personal?"

Ryan watched as Sandy's mouth turned up in a tight smile, "Cut from the same deck, remember? I know a couple of things about self-esteem. Believe it or not, at your age, I had my share of self-doubt."

"Yeah? You?"

His guardian shook his head, his eyebrows disappearing for a moment underneath his hair. He took a moment before he answered, stepping closer to Ryan. When he spoke, his voice sounded like he was struggling a little to keep his words even, "You know my dad walked out on our family. I've told you that much. I don't know, though, if I've ever told you about what things were like at home before he left."

Ryan frowned, "I'm guessing not so good?"

Sandy's lips stretched into a grimace as he nodded, "My dad wouldn't have won any 'Father of the Year' awards, trust me. In retrospect, I've gotta' say he was more into verbal oppression than anything physical, but he could be cruel. He used to tell me regularly that I was a disappointment. He thought academics were a poor substitute for sports, and you can probably guess what he thought about my interest in theater. I understood early on that I embarrassed him."

Being embarrassed at having Sandy for a son? The guy must have been a fucking idiot.

Ryan scowled, "Sounds like his problem."

"I know that now. Then? It wasn't so clear."

Ryan shook his head. Fingering his watchband, his eyes flicked back and forth between Sandy and the ground for several seconds.

At last he drew in a deep breath and focused solely on Sandy. "My father said I was a …" He edited his words mid-sentence, "I guess the Newport-acceptable version would be 'disappointment', too."

"To quote you, 'sounds like his problem'."

Ryan bit his lip, unsure how to answer. He'd never felt so unbalanced as he had these last few days, and today had been like some kind of rollercoaster that refused to come to a stop. Just when he thought he had pulled himself together, there'd be another hill or loop or curve that sent him spiraling yet again.

He swallowed hard, "I guess."

Sandy nodded, before he revised the stakes, "From the little pieces you've told us, and the things I've picked up, I gather your dad, and later some of your mother's boyfriends… got pretty physical sometimes."

Fuck. Another freaking loop. He should have known Sandy would bring up the physical stuff sooner or later. Wrapping his arms tightly around his midriff, he waited for whatever was coming next.

He didn't have to wait long. Sandy kept probing, "You stood up to that guy your mom was with when you and I met, didn't you? And I'm guessing you didn't put a lot of faith in anything he had to say about you."

Pure hatred was an emotion he almost welcomed. No fucking weakness there. "You mean AJ?"

"Yeah."

Ryan unwrapped his arms, his hands forming fists at his side. He glared, sure of himself for the first time since they'd started this conversation. "I did what I had to do to get by – to try to protect Mom. Besides, if I learned anything growing up, it was that the crap from AJ and the other jerks my mom drug into our house didn't count for much."

Sandy nodded approvingly, "What you just said, Ryan – questioning what those guys knew? The things they said? That's smart."

Ryan narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. There were times it hadn't felt very smart, regardless of what his guardian was saying, but he'd made his choices. He'd known the consequences.

Sandy tilted his head, "What I'm saying is this. When anyone criticizes you, you owe it to yourself to challenge what they're saying, kid. Like you said, what do they know? Are they credible? Does what they're saying make sense? Does it fit with the things you know are true? Can they prove it? Where's their evidence?"

Ryan crossed his arms, his fingers digging into his biceps as he listened. He found himself sorting through what his foster father was saying, to determine whether _it_ was credible. He wondered whether Sandy would see the irony in that.

He almost missed the end of the man's spiel, "Do you hear what I'm saying, Ryan? Challenge every negative message, kid. _Especially_ the messages you send yourself."

Ryan looked down at the ground, before looking back up at Sandy through his eyelashes. "That advice works for AJ, and all the other assholes Mom saddled us with. It's just -- I don't know, Sandy, but getting the same message from the people who really knows me? It starts to sound pretty credible, don't you think?"

Sandy backed up a step before responding, "What people?"

Groaning, Ryan turned his head. He felt Sandy's eyes on him, and mumbled, "You know."

"Tell me, kid."

Ducking his head, he answered softly, "Dad. Trey. My mom."

----------------------------------

Sandy glanced across at Kirsten, who shook her head sadly.

Taking in a steadying breath, he coaxed, "Let's take your dad out of the equation, okay? Would you agree we can discount his opinions?"

The teenager looked a little sheepish as he mumbled his agreement, "I guess. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Ryan. It's just that we discussed our fathers, and I thought we'd decided neither one of them were exactly credible."

Sandy watched as Ryan stared at him a moment before nodding slowly. "Good," he smiled, feeling equal parts surprise and relief. Maybe he'd gotten through to Ryan after all – on some level, anyway.

He let his voice reach out to the teenager, "When I spoke to Trey yesterday, he told me that you were a special kid. I know that you're smart enough to know that he's jealous of you, and that he's frustrated with his own life. But you might not see how proud he is of you, Ryan. It was clear to me, though. And it was equally clear that he loves you – you wouldn't believe how protective he was, taking me to task where he thought I was letting you down."

Ryan looked up, his eyes wide, "Trey said _you_ let me down?"

Sandy nodded, "He made some valid points – brought some things to my attention that need to be addressed. That I want to address with you."

The boy turned his head away an instant, sucking in a breath. Turning back, he muttered, "He shouldn't have…"

The teenager stopped mid-sentence, licked his lips, and finally settled on, "I'm really sorry."

"Why should you be sorry? You're not responsible for what your brother thinks or says. Those things are out of your control, kid. Besides, Trey didn't say anything I didn't need to hear."

The boy's eyes reflected his confusion.

Sandy proposed, "We'll hold off talking about the things he called me on for a few minutes, okay?"

His foster son looked wary as he nodded his assent.

Sandy glanced quickly at his wife, whose soft eyes conveyed her support.

Returning his attention to the teenager, he drew in a deep breath. "I know we need to talk about your mom, Ryan. I think I might understand a little of how Dawn's leaving must have felt. First, obviously the whole situation with my father, but there's another thing, too. You see, after my father left, my mother buried herself in her work, always taking care of other kids. I felt like she'd chosen them over my brother and I, and it hurt like hell. You've met The Nana – she's a force of nature. I was used to that force being present in my life. Sometimes it felt way too present, but the fact was it was always there. Then, suddenly, she was focused almost exclusively on things outside our home."

"She ever throw you out?" The boy's voice was eerily steady.

"No, she didn't. I'm just saying, at the time, it felt like she forgot she had her own kids at home. We ran wild, and she never noticed. I remember thinking she wouldn't ignore me like that if I meant anything to her. That I must not have been worthy, somehow."

Ryan lifted his head and stared directly at Sandy as he challenged, "Your mom spent time at work, Sandy. Not strung out or inside…" He stopped his sentence abruptly, closing his eyes and biting his lip.

"You can say it, Ryan. Not inside a bottle," Kirsten finished for him, her voice gentle.

Sandy watched as the boy gathered himself together before turning toward Kirsten and whispering, "I'm really sorry."

Kirsten shook her head as she responded, "No, honey, I'm the one who's sorry. For letting you down the same way your mom did."

The teenager's face reddened, but he said nothing.

Clearing his throat pointedly, Sandy waited until he had his foster-son's attention once again.

"You're right, Ryan. It's not the same. I'm just telling you how it felt to me at the time. I was a kid. What did I know? I couldn't understand my father's frustrations and insecurities were what made him leave – not me. Or that my mother buried herself in her work to escape her pain, not her kids. I made a lot of flawed assumptions, and it took growing up and listening to people with some sage advice before I could throw out the tapes that played inside my head. The ones that diminished my self-esteem."

The teenager grimaced as he raised his head just high enough for Sandy to see his face clearly. To see the purple marks around his neck, and the bruised cheek and blackened eye. Sandy's heartbeat quickened, as he considered the deeper scars the boy carried inside.

At last Ryan spoke, "So, you were wrong about the assumptions you made back then, and now I'm supposed to think maybe I'm wrong, too?"

"I'd like you to consider the possibility," Sandy replied carefully.

Ryan smiled dryly, "You see the difference, don't you? I've never had to 'assume' anything. Say you discount Dad. And even throw out Trey. What about my mom? She really couldn't have been clearer, or more complete."

"Sandy?" Kirsten's voice drew his attention from his foster son. Sandy turned to face her, realizing that she'd risen and was making her way to where they stood.

Reaching him, Kirsten wound her fingers through his, whispering, "I'm the one who spoke with Dawn. Let me talk to Ryan, okay?"

He narrowed his eyes, carefully searching Kirsten's face. She'd taken on far more responsibility today than he'd ever anticipated, and was now offering to move into territory even he dreaded broaching.

Her voice, though affectionate, had a definite edge when she spoke again, "You understand that really wasn't a question?"

He did now. When Kirsten adopted that tone, no power on earth was going to deter her.

"I knew that," he protested, giving Kirsten a bemused smile. He found it oddly reassuring that the best of Caleb Nichol still lived on inside his daughter.

Turning to check on Ryan, the boy's quick head duck didn't quite hide his smirk. Sandy wondered wryly whether Ryan would find The Kirsten quite as amusing when she turned her attention to him.

Right now, though, Sandy knew Kirsten had her sights on him, fixing him with an intense stare before smiling sweetly, "Sandy, honey, why don't you go back to the table and make us all a snack? Maybe talk to the food services people and get some new ice? And ask for some lemonade? Oh, and check your messages? Ryan and I will join you over there in a few minutes, okay?"

"Those aren't really questions either, are they?" he stalled, furtively trying to gage Ryan's reaction to being left alone with Kirsten. Make that The Kirsten, he amended, not quite trusting the smile his wife was wearing. However, the boy's face was still hidden from his view.

Kirsten's head shook from side to side, before she raised her face and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "We'll be fine," she whispered under her breath, before she pushed him gently away and turned to face their foster-son.

Sandy descended from the boulders, chuckling softly as he dropped the final two feet down to the shore. "You're on your own now, kid," he mused, a small smile crinkling his features as he visualized the pair he'd left behind.

Kirsten never did things lightly, so she must have had her reasons. He'd simply have to trust her. And that? He could do.

There was something else he could do, too. Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he flipped it open. Three messages. He listened to the first message as he crossed toward the table, the smile fading from his face. He didn't bother looking up the number before he started to dial. This one he had memorized.

-------------------------------------

Kirsten sought a perch with room for two, spying a spot closer to the water. The salt spray would reach them there, but she could deal with that – the cold water might feel good against their feet and legs.

Reaching the rock, she climbed on top, letting her legs dangle above the water. She knew Ryan was watching her, waiting for her to speak.

"Ryan?"

When he responded to her voice by looking up at her, she patted the space beside her, inviting him to join her. When he hesitated, she reinforced the invitation with her eyes, looking first at him, and then at the empty space.

His mouth twitched, and his eyes searched for something else to look at, but she fixed him with the same glare she'd used on Sandy. At that, he apparently realized resistance _was_ futile, and ambled over toward her.

She offered him a hand up, surprised when he accepted her help. She was even more surprised when he exercised caution as he arranged himself beside her, his legs dangling above the water, too. It seemed her foster-son had learned at least one lesson today, albeit a pain-induced one. She hoped he was learning other lessons, too.

They sat together, saying nothing, for a minute or two, while the salt spray below jumped and spattered against the rocks. Their feet and ankles got some sprinkles, but just enough to feel refreshing. Kirsten was just about to speak when one large wave crashed against the rocks, sending a plume of water straight into the air, soaking their legs all the way to their knees.

Kirsten gasped from the sudden cold, but recovered almost immediately, giggling like some schoolgirl. Ryan's expression made her giggle harder, as the teenager obviously thought she'd lost her mind.

"Maybe this isn't such a good spot?" He sounded a lot like Sandy, concerned and protective.

"I won't melt, I promise," she smiled. "What do you say? Game?"

He blinked, but then smiled a little lopsided smile, "Game."

She turned to him, "Sandy talks too much sometimes, doesn't he?"

This time the boy's eyes widened for an instant before he shook his head as though trying to clear it.

When she raised her brows, he offered, "Ya' think?"

"Mm-hmm. I think. Only, and this is the thing that makes it bearable – he usually makes a lot of sense, if you get past all the noise."

Kirsten watched as Ryan looked down at his feet, wiggling his toes as the salt water sprinkled them. He lifted his eyes, staring out at her from underneath his bangs. "It's a lot of noise."

She nodded, wondering how anyone could resist this child when he looked at them like that. She'd move the moon and stars for him if she could.

"It's worth it," she insisted.

He lifted his head, echoing her nod, "Yeah."

She let him have another moment of silence before she turned to him again, "You know I talked to your mom that morning. That she told me how much she loved you. I've told you that already."

Ryan turned his head so that all she could see was one bruised cheek and long blond eyelashes. Kirsten could hear him take in deep breaths, and release them shakily.

"But there are things I haven't discussed with you. Things I don't think I really understood before about what Dawn was trying to tell me that day."

The boy's voice was hesitant as he asked, "What things?"

She dipped her head as she thought of that horrible morning, when she'd cursed Dawn's cowardice and her neglect. But she'd learned lessons of her own since then.

She wove her words quietly, "Things like how inadequate we feel sometimes – how unprepared we can feel to face the things we know we need to do. And the paradox is that the more important the thing we have to do is, the less confidence we have that we're up for the job."

She saw the tiny shudder that went through the boy's body, but he said nothing.

She continued softly, "Dawn tried to make me understand that morning. How special you were. How smart. What a good kid you were. And how unprepared she was to give you the life she believed you deserved."

Kirsten heard the small groan that escaped the boy's lips before he sucked them between his teeth. She saw his hands curling and uncurling, and his eyes staring out over the Pacific. She wondered if he saw the water, or Dawn's final wave.

Reaching out, she brushed his arm, soothing, "I realize now she was terrified that she'd fail. Now that I know you, I understand why that scared her as much as it did. You've got so much potential, honey. You're so very special. She couldn't bear to risk failing you."

The small tremors that coursed through his body were matched by the tremor in Ryan's voice as he countered, "She _left_ me."

"With us. She left you with us. She hoped we'd be able to give you the things she wanted you to have. I'm not just talking about physical things like a place to live, and food, or even a good education – I'm also talking about emotional support, and nurturing, and helping you become everything she knew you could be."

The boy's voice was jagged as he responded, "That's… I expect that's a charitable take on what my mom said."

"I don't really think so," she assured him.

He pressed his hand against his eyes, his breath more and more uneven. When he looked at her his eyes revealed his anguish He shook his head disconcertedly, "Then, why did she throw me out that night I ended up in Newport? Why did she move away while I was gone? Why would she do those things if I were so …so _special_?"

His face contorted as he paused, choking back bitter tears. "She left me a note, Kirsten! On a paper towel." He fought to hold himself together, his breaths now coming in shallow gasps. His voice cracked as he added, "And if she thought I was special, don't you think maybe she would have called or written? I mean, it's been almost two years…"

Kirsten knew if this were Seth, she'd have him in her arms. But this was Ryan, and she hesitated, reaching out instead to pull his face toward hers as she spoke, "Honey, I say this from experience, alcohol clouds your thinking. Under its influence, you do and say things you don't mean. That you regret for the rest of your life."

Ryan's eyes were liquid pools as he asked, "I understand that. It's just, when… when your own mother doesn't want you, that… that kinda' says it all about someone… doesn't it?"

"What I know is she told me you were a good thing – so good she didn't want to risk failing you. That's really what she said, Ryan. In the middle of everything wrong in her world, you were the one thing she thought was right."

The boy's eyes had closed tightly, and his head was bent. She almost missed that he was crying until she saw the tears sparkle against his cheek, backlit by the sun as they tumbled from his face.

Kirsten's eyes stung as she reached for Ryan's shoulders. She pressed her eyelids down tightly when he drew in a tortured breath, his body trembling between her hands.

"Oh, sweetheart," Kirsten soothed, as Ryan allowed himself to be pulled into her arms, his head finding her shoulder, his body dissolving against hers. She turned toward him, bringing one bent leg up on their boulder to brace herself, as his arms circled her. She felt his shoulders racking, and she heard his soft gasps for air.

She hated thinking about when and where and why this child had learned to cry so quietly. Resting her chin on his head, she wondered how often since he'd been with them she might have missed such silent tears…

----------------------------

Ryan felt her rocking him gently as his tears subsided. As hard as he'd fought all day to keep himself together in front of Kirsten, in the end her arms had somehow become a trusted refuge.

Her voice was low and silky, "I'm so, so sorry that you're hurting, honey. I wish I could take the pain away."

Her lips brushed against his hair as she rocked him. She'd been whispering to him for awhile, her words mainly a jumble of repeated phrases like _it's gonna' be ok; you're ours, now; we love you, sweetie; _and_ you're amazing_.

Finally he stirred, pulling himself upright as Kirsten stilled, watching him intently. He felt her concern, thick and transparent, every mothering instinct outwardly engaged.

He wasn't sure how long the sense of reassurance he felt would last, but he knew that she deserved the credit. He sought to comfort her, "It's gonna' be okay. Thanks for what you said – about my mom. It… it kinda' helps."

"Glad you were listening," Kirsten smiled kindly, while her eyes scanned his face. She was clearly still in mother-mode, as she reached out to brush back his hair, and dab at his eyes.

"Kirsten, please," he responded a little self-consciously, moving his body backward as he swiped his own arm across his face.

To his relief, Kirsten didn't seem at all offended by his sudden bout of teenage pride. Instead, she smiled, waiting for him to give her his attention before she spoke.

"Ryan, if there's one thing I want you to understand from everything we've said today, it's this. You're part of this family now, and _we're_ _not leaving you_. _Ever_. Got that?"

"Like I'd argue with The Kirsten," he hedged, not trusting himself to offer her a more serious response. Maybe one day he'd figure out a way to tell her that being abandoned by Dawn would always hurt beyond measure, but that the shelter she offered him made the pain bearable.

Kirsten seemed to understand he needed a little time. She sat quietly beside him, legs dangling, eyes focused on the Pacific.

Gradually, he relaxed, closing his eyes, listening to the sound of the waves rolling in and crashing under their feet. The salt spray kept the mid-day heat at bay, lulling him off-guard.

Judging from her reaction, Kirsten hadn't seen the geyser of water coming, either. Ryan wasn't sure who yelped the loudest when the cold sea-water smacked them solidly, drenching them from the waist down.

Amazingly, once the first shock wore off, Kirsten collapsed into another fit of giggles. She rose, extending an arm to help him up, as another wave reached high enough to douse them. "Feels like something's telling us it's time to go!"

Accepting her assistance, he managed to stand without wincing. Not, however, without dripping. And there was another problem, too.

Damn these fucking pants, anyway.

He hoped the pink material dried quickly – soaked, it was suddenly far too thin and form-fitting than he was prepared to model in front of his foster-mother.

With his back to Kirsten, he ripped off his button down shirt, quickly tying it around his waist, sleeves looped together at his side. Pride somewhat salvaged, he turned around to face Kirsten, whose focus was ostensively on her rings.

Halfway down to the beach, she offered, "I can get you some dry scrubs if you want them."

Hoping he wasn't blushing, he quickly mocked, "Kirsten, is there some kind of kick-back you're not telling us about? Like extra bacon for every pair of these things you manage to unload?"

She grinned, "Why? You'd have a problem with that?"

"Nah," he grinned back. "Not me."

She winked, "Good, 'cause I'm working up to pie!"

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_tbc_

A/N 3: Reviews greatly appreciated. Many thanks to all the faithful, and to anyone else kind enough to take the time to tell me what you think. It means a lot more than you may think…


	14. Chapter 14

_After the Season 2 finale shooting, a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed … _

**Disclaimer**: The OC Universe, with all its assorted characters, belongs to Josh Schwartz, _et. al_. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended, nor is any money being made.

**A/N**: Final chapter! Greetings and welcome to those of you who've come along on this journey with me – hope you've enjoyed the time you've spent in my AU…

**A/N 2:** As always, all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER 14**

**Time: Picks up shortly after the end of Chapter 13, mid- afternoon of Day 5**

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Sandy's argument with Kirsten lasted less than sixty seconds. She wasn't changing clothes, and neither was Ryan. The sun was warmer, their things were lighter weight, and they'd dry just fine, she'd reasoned, impervious to all reminders of what she'd said only earlier this morning..

After deflecting a final volley, she'd shepherded Ryan off toward the bath house.

Game. Set. Match. To Kirsten.

He now waited for their return, dutifully filling plates with finger sandwiches and fruit, and pouring fresh lemonade into tall, ice-filled glasses. Just as he was completing the tasks he'd been assigned, his wife and foster son reappeared, trekking damply from the bath house.

He wondered if he should worry that the pair weren't talking, or if he should read anything into their silence. After all, Kirsten? Ryan? Maybe silence was okay.

Besides, his wife could say plenty without speaking. Like the look she turned on him the second he met her eyes. Kirsten clearly wanted information, but she wouldn't voice questions whose answers might cause Ryan more distress.

"Talked to the ADA while you two were over there playing in the water," he tendered, encouraged by the look which passed between his wife and foster son. There seemed to be a degree of comfort between them he hadn't sensed before.

Kirsten touched his hand, obviously trying to keep her voice in check as she asked, "What did she have to say, Sandy?"

Sandy followed her eyes to Ryan's face, where the apprehension rising in the boy's eyes was palpable.

He cut immediately to the salient facts, "Sidney wanted to cancel our appointment. Seems they've decided not to pursue anyone other than Trey. And they're only going after him for parole violation and a misdemeanor drug charge, provided he continues to cooperate with their office. Trey's looking at serving out the rest of his original sentence. Good news is he'll probably be able to serve any drug-related sentence concurrently, if he doesn't screw this up. It's not gonna' be easy for him going back to prison, but all in all, it could have been a whole lot worse."

Not surprisingly, the teenager's anxiety was only partially abated. "But what about Marissa?"

Fortunately, Sandy had anticipated the question – it was quintessential 'Ryan'. "The DA's office isn't bringing charges against Marissa, either. They've accepted that the shooting was in the 'defense of others' – which means there's really nothing for them to prosecute, and they know it. Bottom line? You're both off their radar screen."

"That's great news!" Kirsten raised her lemonade glass, "To closed cases!"

Sandy tapped his glass against hers, "Hear, hear!"

Sandy watched as Ryan fingered his glass uncertainly.

"Not toasting, kid?"

The boy tilted his head to the side, turning his blackened eye away from Sandy's line of sight.

"What if the ADA had decided to prosecute? For assault? Or… worse?"

Sandy placed his lemonade back on the table, allowing his hands to rest clasped loosely around the glass. "Then we would have dealt with it. If it had made a difference, Ryan, we would have waited to talk to you until after we had their decision. Don't you see? Everything we've said today – everything we're trying to show you – it wouldn't have changed. We love you, no matter what. We want you in this family, no matter what. That's how 'unconditional' works, kid."

"Sort through the noise, Ryan," Kirsten coaxed.

Sandy turned to Kirsten, "What noise?"

His foster son intercepted his question, smiling crookedly, "Not important. Inside thing, okay?"

"Oooo-Kay," he answered, glancing quickly between his wife and foster-son and liking what he saw.

The boy looked down at the table, tracing his finger through the condensation from the icy drink. Peering up through his eyelashes, he flicked his eyebrows, "Unconditional, huh?"

Sandy nodded. "Unconditional."

The boy's eyes dropped back to the table, where he resumed tracing his finger through the water rings. Without looking up, he spoke, "It's a big word."

"It doesn't scare us."

Ryan traced another circle as he snorted softly, "Yeah, well, name anything that does."

"Ever losing you."

His foster-son's finger froze, his head rising, blue eyes wide and full of questions. Sandy met the teenager's gaze, not flinching while the boy probed deeply, willing Ryan to trust the answers that he found there.

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Even though he hadn't felt hungry, Sandy found himself polishing off the last of the finger sandwiches he'd piled onto his plate. He noticed that his wife and foster-son had eaten most of theirs, too, which was even more surprising. Their bodies must have needed the fuel more than he'd realized.

He hoped their impromptu break might have replenished some of their emotional reserves as well. If he'd needed the mental respite – and he had – he could only imagine how drained his wife and foster son must have been, with everything they'd both been through.

He'd tried to keep their conversation light while they were eating – laughing about his explosive learning curve with the microwave, trotting out Ryan's rope story and Seth's reaction, groaning over Seth's care package for Kirsten, complete with I-Pod and enough downloaded Emo tunes to see her through the next century…especially since she was into classic rock.

Unobtrusively, the food staff appeared, clearing away their dirty dishes and used utensils before vanishing, leaving small silver bowls of frozen mango gelato in their wake.

As he dipped his spoon into the dessert, Sandy focused once more on his foster son. Ryan's radar must have picked up the subtle shift in his attention, because the boy straightened out of his slouch and squared his shoulders.

Sandy leaned forward, "Remember earlier I said how much I respected your opinion about people? Your ability to read them?"

Ryan's eyes narrowed a bit, but the boy nodded as he sucked a spoonful of the gelato into his mouth.

Leaning back, giving the teen a little more space, he asked, "Do you think I'm any good at it? Reading people?"

The teenager's hand with the empty spoon stopped in midair. "Better than good." One corner of the boy's lip drew back slightly as he amended very softly, "At least, most of the time."

Sandy swirled his melting mango dessert around inside its bowl. "I messed up with Oliver, though, right?"

His foster-son flicked the spoon he held up and down, focusing intently in the direction of the bath house. The spoon grew still as the boy's eyes found his.

Ryan's voice was hesitant, "You didn't spend time with him."

The kid was nothing if not generous. Time to see how generous. "I've spent some time with you, though, right?"

The boy's face worked itself into a wary frown as the kid mined the gelato in his bowl. Looking up, Ryan squinted, "Is that a trick question?"

Sandy smiled reassuringly, "Not at all. It's just, I think you're saying I'm pretty good at seeing people for who they are – at least when I've spent time around them, right?"

Ryan still looked wary as he turned the spoon upside down inside his mouth. This time he only nodded, lips closed around the latest shovel full of mango ice.

"I'm suggesting that I've got a pretty good read on you, Ryan. As does Kirsten. And I think it's fair to say that we see you differently from how you see yourself. I think we may be able to see some things that you're too close to see, or that you've been conditioned not to see. What we'd like to do? Is to tell you a little of who we see when we look at Ryan Atwood. Would you let us do that?"

The boy pulled the spoon out of his mouth slowly, as though he were buying time. Sandy waited while the kid returned the utensil carefully to the table, and looked across at him.

"Do I have a choice?"

Good question. Sandy hedged, "I'm hoping you'll choose to hear us out."

Ryan's eyes slid half-closed as he shook his head in resignation. "In other words, no choice, right?"

"It's not gonna' hurt, kid."

The kid grabbed the spoon again, filling it with gelato as he smiled wryly, "So, I'm just curious. Who's gonna' speak up on behalf of the rest of Newport? Maybe Julie Cooper would have some stuff to say? Or the kids from Harbor? Like, I don't know, maybe some of the guys from our water-polo team? And hey, how about the police – they've got some pertinent perceptions, don't they?"

The spoon hung suspended in mid air, full of mango ice.

Kirsten leaned across the table, "First of all, there are lots of people I know in Newport who've said very complementary things to me about you. Your teachers, your soccer coaches from last year, a number of our friends from the country club and the yacht club – even the Newpsies."

Sandy covered his grin with one hand as he watched Ryan's face contort at the same time the spoon tipped over, spilling orange colored sweetness onto the dreaded scrubs. The teenager grabbed for a napkin, smearing the dessert as he blurted, "The Newpsies? Kirsten, they …"

He stopped, apparently rethinking what he was about to say. However, Sandy saw the boy's face turning pink.

Kirsten countered, "The Newpsies can be superficial sometimes, I'll give you that. But they're not blind and trust me – they're not easily impressed. They see a good-looking guy who also happens to be charming, gracious, and unfailingly considerate, and like a number of the other girls around this town, they're captivated. Face it, honey, you're the type of guy women are always gonna' fall for. And the fact that you don't let it go to your head? Makes you that much more appealing."

Sandy choked back a chuckle as he observed the boy's progressive reactions to the things his wife was saying. The quick succession of reddening ears, the offending spoon being sent clattering back to its place on the table, and mortified blue eyes rolling self-consciously before dropping in consternation – reminding him unquestionably the kid was only 17.

It was just – Ryan normally seemed quite comfortable with the frequent attention he received from girls – leave it to the Newpsies to throw him. Or maybe it was really Kirsten who was throwing him. Either way, Sandy couldn't help enjoying watching the boy act his age.

The boy's voice was strained as he finally stammered, "Please, Kirsten… that's… that's…"

Kirsten must have decided to take pity, "Too embarrassing to hear coming from me? I'm sorry, honey – I won't torture you anymore, I promise."

Ryan raised his face, "Thanks." He bit his lip, and flicked his eyebrows up before adding, "And thanks. For … you know."

"For telling you the truth?"

The teenager's head dipped, but not before Sandy saw the bashful smile the boy gave his wife.

Kirsten grew serious once again, addressing their foster son, "Going back to those other people you mentioned, I want you to think, Ryan. Who knows you better? Who is more credible – us or any of them?"

The kid stared hard at his hands as he answered, "I didn't mean… I just … I'm sorry."

Sandy sat back, watching Kirsten cover their foster son's hand with hers, her voice soothing, "Sweetie, all I'm saying is that I want you to weigh the facts, and decide for yourself who to believe. Trust me, I'm not afraid of the competition."

Sandy saw the teenager focus intently on Kirsten's fingers before he answered her, "There's no competition."

Kirsten nodded her head, her hand squeezing Ryan's until the teenager looked up. Satisfied, she let him go, and leaned back. Her eyes sparkled, "I knew that."

Clearing his throat, Sandy asked, "So, ready to get a glimpse of the Ryan Atwood we see, kid?"

Ryan wrapped his arms loosely around his body, although this time Sandy thought the boy looked more uncertain than defensive. He could see the effort the teen made to meet his eyes before shrugging and nodding his assent. Not surprisingly, the kid then quickly dropped his head, hiding most of his face from view.

Sandy decided to start with some simple observations. Ones he knew the boy could accept as true. "The Ryan Atwood I know is intellectually gifted, and not only thrives but excels in a very challenging academic environment. He maintains top grades in honors courses, consistently earns praise from his teachers, and has even won over a once-skeptical Dr. Kim."

At the mention of Dr. Kim, Ryan's eyes flicked upwards, followed by a small uplift of his face. The boy let a grudging smile cross his lips, as Sandy's remark seemed to have struck a chord. As well it should – the kid had every reason to be proud of what he'd accomplished at Harbor.

"And it's not just academically that this kid shows us his intelligence. He's an astute observer of people and behavior. He's a voracious reader. He's an innovative thinker, with an engaging dry wit. Even Seth gives him credit for being funny, and Seth's a hard sell."

"Tell me about it," groaned Kirsten. Appearing startled to see two sets of eyes turn toward her, she shooed their attention away with her hands, "Back on topic, funny guys."

Sandy saw Ryan's follow-up glance in his direction, seeking reassurance that Kirsten was okay. He shook his head slightly, pleased to see the boy relax a bit in response.

"So, where was I? I was about to say that this kid has the ability to juxtapose diverse thoughts and concepts to come up with fresh ideas and original theories. Like the spiel he gave me the first day we met. He's also a talented designer, as evidenced by his architectural solution for our family room that the professionals couldn't find, not to mention school projects like the planning and construction of a massive Trojan horse."

Ryan squirmed a bit in his seat, as though he were uncomfortable hearing praise. The kid finally turned a little away from toward them, positioning himself so that he could easily glance sideways at them, or out toward the Pacific.

Cautiously, Sandy moved on to his next point. Still simple. Still undeniable, even for this kid who discounted himself all too readily.

"Unlike most of the teenagers I've known, including my own, Ryan Atwood doesn't shirk household chores or other responsibilities. He keeps his room immaculate. He cleans up after himself in the kitchen. What am I saying? He cleans up after everyone. He even rinses the dishes before he puts them in the dishwasher, though I gotta' say, only God and Kirsten know why. He takes out the trash; he volunteers to help Kirsten or me whenever we need a hand setting up for or pulling off social events; he runs errands; he brings in the groceries; he even cooks… What I'm saying is that he sees something that needs to be done, and he does it. And we never have to ask."

Kirsten wrinkled her nose, "Flying food. You rinse the dishes to keep all that food from flying around in the dishwasher…"

Sandy saw Ryan's arms loosen, as the teenager turned up one corner of his mouth. Looking sideways at Kirsten he confessed, "I wondered why we did that. Rinsed the dishes, I mean. We never had a dishwasher, so I just copied what you did."

Kirsten's smile lit her face as she counseled, "Word to the wise, sweetie. While I'm gone, don't let Sandy or Seth near the dishwasher, and please – keep on rinsing."

Sandy grinned at the pair of them, "Glad you two got that sorted out!" When their glares back at him mirrored one another, Sandy held up his hands, realizing his wife and foster-son made a formidable team.

Grinning wider, he shrugged, "I'm just saying…"

Their glares intensified, prompting him to concede, "Okay! Moving on…"

He saw Kirsten's quick wink at Ryan, and his fleeting upturned lips.

Imagine. Bonding over flying food.

Sandy picked up with another observation the kid would be hard-pressed to dispute. "This kid is polite, respectful, and well-mannered. He's that way at home, at school, and in social situations. We don't say this often enough, but that behavior doesn't goes unnoticed or unappreciated. Kirsten and I have been pleased and impressed with his conduct, as well as very proud. He instinctively uses his considerable observation skills to great advantage, watching, learning, and then adopting situationally-correct behaviors."

"It's no big deal," the teenager blurted, sounding embarrassed.

"It's impressive, kid. And it's uncommon."

Ryan countered, "But you forgot to mention the fighting. Or the trips to juvie…"

Sandy answered firmly, "Trust me, kid. I didn't forget – I'm going to get to those things in a minute."

He watched as his foster son blinked, and ducked his head.

Sandy continued, "The Ryan I know is resourceful, disciplined, and determined. He's a hard worker, he finishes the things he starts, and he has a remarkable ability to focus on an issue or a problem…"

To his surprise, Ryan snorted, obviously amused, "Is that last part some kind of code for brooding?"

Smiling, Sandy acknowledged, "Angst, thy name is Atwood. But I wasn't talking about your brooding, kid. I was talking about the sheer power of concentration you can bring to bear on a problem."

He chuckled, adding, "Although, as brooding goes, I'd have to say that Ryan Atwood is a world-class brooder. He might just be the Yoda of brooding."

Ryan turned to Sandy, his expression rippling between a scowl and a smirk, "Finally. For a few minutes there, I thought maybe you had Ryan Atwood confused with some sort of saint."

Shaking his head, Sandy grinned, "Hardly, kid. I see you as a lot of things, most of them positive, but I'd never saddle you with sainthood. We've all got flaws, son. Bottom line is, I don't think any one of us is up for canonization anytime soon."

This time the expression on Ryan's face was a lot easier to read.

Judging from the boy's more open demeanor, he might be ready for something meatier. Something Sandy had alluded to before.

"Like I said earlier, the Ryan Atwood I know is considerate of the people he interacts with. He pays close attention to our feelings. He's been paying attention all day to Kirsten and I. What we're thinking. How we feel. He was careful earlier with Seth, considerate of his wishes even when they didn't exactly match his own. I can't begin to count the times he's been there for each of us, supporting, defending, helping, making real differences in our lives.

"Not to mention the innumerable times he's been there for his friends. Take Marissa – the kid's her personal white knight, always there when she needs him. Or Lindsay. He stood by her through some very rough times, back in the day.

"Or, what about everything he was willing to do for Theresa? Like saving her from a very angry Eddie, and reasoning with her when she was thinking about going back to an abusive relationship. And going back to Chino when she asked him to…"

He paused, overcome as he thought of the self-sacrifice Ryan had made. How much more he had been willing to make. His voice felt a little thick as he continued, "The kid's loyalty and sense of responsibility is overwhelming.

Ryan spoke hesitantly, "But what you're saying? It's not like there was anything else to do, you know? I mean, you do what's right, don't you?"

Sandy shook his head, "You'd be surprised how many people would do nothing. And the reason you'd be surprised, kid? Because 'nothing' is the last thing Ryan Atwood would ever think to do."

The boy turned away, staring once again toward the sea.

Evenly, Sandy continued, "The fact is, I can't even list all the times he's been there for other people. Like for Luke when we learned about his dad. And for Zach when he was hurting. Or what about rescuing Hailey from the strip club? Saving Trey from a false drug bust?

"The fact is, this kid's the polar opposite of self-absorbed. Frankly? Sometimes I think he's the poster-child for selflessness. I'm awed by, and very proud of his abiding, deep-seated thoughtfulness and consideration of others, as well as his ingrained instinct to help when anyone's in trouble."

Sandy watched as Ryan continued to focus on the Pacific, with just occasional sideways flicks of his eyes. As proud as he might be of this kid, he needed for Ryan to hear his concern as well.

"That said, I worry that he discounts his own feelings too much sometimes. That he doesn't take care of himself the way I wish he would, because he doesn't recognize that his own safety and well-being are every bit as important as those of the other people in his life. The people he wants to help. This much I know – he's vitally important to me, and to Kirsten, and to Seth. He needs to understand that, and factor it into his actions."

Ryan's head turned, his eyes contrite, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you worry."

"We don't need you to be sorry, Ryan. We need you to be safe."

The boy's head nodded slightly, but Sandy noted that the teenager made no promises – not that he really expected any today. However, this much he was sure of – the significance of Ryan's safety would be thoroughly addressed.

In therapy. Also at home. And very, very soon.

Sandy shifted his position, placing his elbows on the table and leaning into them. "This kid has faced hardships most kids, thankfully, will never have to face. And the thing is, they've left their mark. As smart as he is, he's conditioned to use his fists instead of his head sometimes. It's what he knows, what he's learned, what he still resorts to on occasion, under extreme circumstances."

Ryan swallowed hard, but didn't turn away. It was like the kid was making himself face judgment – honor-bound to bear the burden of his faults.

Sandy was tempted to forgo mentioning any further flaws, but he knew better. This kid would discount everything positive he might say if he omitted the negatives Ryan knew existed. For the kid to trust him, he had to speak the truth.

Resolutely, Sandy continued, "He can be hard-headed and stubborn to a fault when he thinks someone he cares for is in trouble and something or someone is standing in the way of his helping them. He has a hard time trusting people. And he's reluctant to turn to anyone for help."

The kid's head recoiled a bit, and his breath intake was a touch ragged, but other than those small signs, the boy remained stoic. His eyes, however, told a different story. Sandy could see the guilt and self-condemnation rising to the surface.

Seeking to shortcut the boy's self-flagellation, Sandy proffered, "He knows, and we know, that we have to face his demons – that we can't keep pretending they don't exist. He's got to start thinking, start trusting, start asking for help."

He could see his foster-son's bruised cheek as the boy finally turned away, eyes now closed. The muscles in the boy's jaw were lightly twitching as he seemed to consider Sandy's words.

Sandy's voice was insistent as he observed, "But this much I know, Ryan. _Other_ qualities are forged by fire, too."

The eyes that found his were wary.

He felt his voice catch a little as he explained, "The qualities I'm talking about? Far outweigh the flaws. For example, Ryan Atwood has …"

He stopped, and started over, "_You_ have resilience and inner strength that literally blow me away, Ryan. Like tempered steel."

"You've learned to face adversity, and cope with issues a kid your age should never have to deal with. You're exceptionally diligent and resourceful, meeting challenges without whining or complaining. You do it like you do everything – quietly, thoughtfully, introspectively."

"That's not anything special," Ryan objected, sounding embarrassed.

"More like exceptional."

Ryan blinked several times, but said nothing.

Sandy moved on, "You have the courage of your convictions, you're not afraid to act, and you accept responsibility for your actions. And incredibly, despite all you've been through – and we'll face those things together when the time's right – despite all that, you have a penchant for forgiveness and compassion.

"Maybe most impressive is that somewhere, somehow, you've developed a moral compass that you live by. I've watched, and I know your compass point is true. You're honest, your convictions are strong, and you conduct yourself with honor and integrity. You're as good as your word, and that, my friend, is powerful."

His foster-son was staring at him as though he had just arrived from Pluto, speaking Plutonese.

"What I'm saying is this: Ryan Atwood is a kid – _you_ are a kid – who we love, who we respect, who we have faith in, who we're proud of, and who we want in our lives."

Ryan spoke, his eyes unsettled. "But, Sandy? The kid you just described? Doesn't sound a lot like me."

Sandy countered, "With all due respect kid – and I mean that sincerely – this is where I've got to disagree. The person I'm describing may not be the Ryan Atwood that you see, but the qualities I've described are as much a part of you as my predilection for words is a part of me. The thing is, kid, odd as this sounds, you're probably going to have to look at yourself through our eyes before you learn to see yourself realistically through your own."

"But what if you're wrong? What then?"

Sandy smiled reassuringly, "Remember that big word we talked about?"

Ryan blinked, "Unconditional?"

Nodding, he answered, "Still applies, kid. If I'm wrong about the boy you are right now – and I'm confident I'm not – but say for the sake of argument that I am – _if_ I'm wrong, then we'll simply turn our attention to helping you become the young man I know you want to be."

The teenager's voice was hesitant, "Could be a gargantuan job, you know."

"I'm willing to accept that possibility. How about you, kid? Are you willing to accept the possibility that I'm right about you?"

The kid stared at him a moment before averting his eyes. Sandy watched the teenager take a few steadying breaths before turning back to him. "I'm willing to try to find the truth."

Sandy smiled widely, "And that, my friend, is exactly the answer I'd expect from you. It's precisely where your compass points you, kid."

Ryan's eyes widened, "I didn't say that because of what you said – I mean, it's just how… It's…" The boy stopped talking, obviously flummoxed.

"Face it kid, it's just _who you are_."

Sandy caught the quick wrinkle in Ryan's eyebrow, as though the kid were piecing together incongruent thoughts.

The teenager's voice sounded bemused when he finally spoke, "Maybe I'll give you that one."

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Ryan kicked at the water as he waded along the beach. Sandy and Kirsten had allowed him to leave the alcove to walk along the entire Suriak coastline. He had no doubt that his boundaries were the property lines of the institute, and that they were locked down tightly. Not that he wanted to escape – just that his guardians' willingness to let him roam alone had its limitations.

He stopped, considering the metaphor. Balancing it against his thoughts a couple of days ago when he'd waded in the cool Pacific, thinking he'd probably lost everything he'd grown to love. He locked his hands behind his neck, staring toward the horizon while the waves lapped tirelessly across his feet.

Who would have ever thought?

Squinting into the sun, he felt the tug as certainly as though his guardians were at his elbow. They'd be waiting for him by now. Another limitation on his freedom – their quiet but persistent expectations.

He held out another minute, testing strength of will – both his and theirs. At last, he smiled in resignation, not sure whose will was stronger since they both seemed to pull him in the same direction.

Turning back toward the alcove, he decided he could live within the narrower restrictions the Cohens were likely to impose going forward. Limits that would protect as much as control.

Maybe he'd been looking for rational boundaries all of his life.

-------------------------------------

His foster parents were back at the palm tree, where they had started off with him this morning. Kirsten was sitting on the lowest point of the tree trunk, drawing patterns in the sand with her toes. Sandy was standing on the other side of the tree, a little further toward the water where the trunk reached just over waist-heigth. Sandy lounged against the trunk, his hands spread wide, palms down on the bark.

Ryan positioned himself between them, facing both his guardians. He stood back a couple of feet, not certain what was coming next.

"I had a message to you from Seth," Sandy grinned, obviously amused. "He says to 'hang tough with the 'rents' and promises that he'll 'let you win' at the PS2 game of your choice. You name the time and place, and he'll be there, ready to 'sacrifice' himself 'for the greater good.'"

"That's one way to spin it," Ryan scoffed. He raised his chin, looking quizzically at his guardians, "You know I totally own the Playstation these days, right?"

Kirsten smiled, "I think I've heard Seth mentioning you've 'improved'."

Sandy's dimples deepened, "See? That's what I'm talking about, kid. All that determination? The discipline? The concentration? Shows itself, doesn't it?"

Shit. He hadn't seen that one coming. He shrugged, not sure PS2 mastery was anything that should really count.

His guardian's eyebrows waggled, "Suit yourself, kid, but I'm telling you – I know what I see."

Sure of the answer, but anxious to move to another topic, Ryan asked pointedly, "So, are we finished here?"

Sandy's face grew serious, "I thought we'd talk about Trey. Actually, about a couple of things Trey called me on. Things we should have discussed a long time ago."

Ryan shook his head, "I still don't get why Trey would say anything to you."

"I do, kid. He's one messed up young man, but underneath all those layers of anger and pain and jealously, he's trying to look out for his little brother. And I have to say, doing a damn fine job the day he jumped on me."

"Riiiiiight. Trey's all about the brotherly love."

His guardian frowned, but said nothing for a moment. As though to clear the way for new words, Sandy smoothed one hand across the palm bark as he spoke, "Let's start with the pool house."

Ryan recoiled, "The pool house?"

Nodding, Sandy elaborated, "Trey wondered why you were still out there, instead of in the house with the rest of the family."

Ryan swallowed. He knew exactly why he'd been put out there in the first place, and he'd understood. However, stupid as he could be sometimes, he was smart enough to realize exactly what they'd given him.

A veritable treasure.

One he wanted to hang onto.

Uneasily, he offered, "I like the pool house. If Trey said something that made you think I didn't, I promise he was wrong."

Ryan saw the look of relief that passed between his guardians, surprised to think that they had ever worried. Hoping that they'd let the subject drop.

Kirsten spoke up, "I'm glad to hear that, honey. It's just… I worry about you out there. Separated from the rest of us like that. I'd really like for you to move inside the house."

_Fuck. _

That is, the sentiment was nice and all, but still... just fuck.

He stepped up closer to the tree, "That means a lot, Kirsten. Hearing you say that. But I'm only fifteen feet away, and it's not like it's really separate. I don't feel separated from you guys out there, I swear."

He saw the look Sandy gave him. The look that said: _You're not fooling me. I know you want to stay in the pool house precisely because it is separate. _

And the thing was? The man was right.

But for some reason, Sandy let Kirsten keep the lead. She pressed, "What about when it rains? Or hails? I've seen you and Seth trade phone calls, rather than walk across the patio, honey. Sometimes you're drenched by the time you make it inside to eat. Wouldn't it be nicer to be inside?"

"It's really okay. I'll… I'll get an umbrella, okay?" he countered hopefully. Weather was a lot easier to address than the separation stuff.

"You really like it out there, hum?" she finally relented. "You truly want to stay there?"

"I do. That would be a yes."

She frowned, before brightening, "Then maybe we should build some sort of passageway between the house and the pool house. Connect them."

Ryan shook his head, "That sounds pretty weird. And expensive."

Not ready to give up, Kirsten suggested, "Then what about some type of covered arbor? It could be pretty, give us some shade outside, and keep anyone going back and forth out of any nasty weather."

He shrugged, not exactly thrilled at the thought of making the trek to the pool house any more inviting. There was something to be said for separation, after all – Seth and separation in particular. "Maybe we could think about it, okay?"

"You'll draw up some plans? Let me see them next time you come visit?"

Ryan's lips twitched, recognizing that tone. "So, those aren't questions, right?"

Kirsten turned to Sandy, "Like you said, honey. He's extremely intelligent."

Ryan ducked his head, narrowly avoiding the smirk he was certain Sandy shot his way.

But he couldn't avoid Sandy's voice, "And diligent, right, Ryan? I'll be anxious to see the plans, too. But kid? Just so we're clear about your keeping the pool house? I think it's time we agree on some rules."

"Rules?" Ryan tried to sound nonchalant, but he didn't quite succeed.

However, Sandy answered smoothly, "For example, I know we've asked you to move out of your room when we've had company. We need to stop that – I promise, no more treating the pool house like it's another guest room. It's your room, and we won't ask you give it up for visitors."

Okay – that would be a pretty cool rule. But he knew Sandy had other rules in mind. Ones that wouldn't be so cool.

Sure enough, Sandy added, "Other rules we need to agree on? Things like what activities are unacceptable. When visitors are allowed, and when they're not. Where are the lines with respect to girls you have over. That type of thing. Got that?"

"Got it."

Anything to keep the pool house. Besides, they'd let the rules slide this long…

Sandy smiled knowingly, "Good, glad we're agreed. Want to set down some suggestions we can discuss with Kirsten next time we visit? When you bring the plans for the arbor?"

Kirsten nodded, "That would really make me feel a lot better about your staying out there, sweetie."

_Fuck. _

Still, the pool house was the pool house.

And it wasn't like he never broke the rules.

"Okay," he agreed, "If that's what you want."

Sandy's eyes twinkled. "It is. Was from the beginning."

Not allowing Ryan time to contemplate pool house life post-rules, Sandy changed the subject.

"Another thing Trey scolded me for was my calling you 'kid'. Be honest, Ryan – does that term bother you? I promise, you won't hurt my feelings."

Scrunching up his face in disbelief, Ryan shook his head, "Are you kidding? He said that?"

"He did. He thought it sounded too impersonal. That I should change it up."

Ryan snorted, "He's one to talk. You should hear some of the stuff he calls me. Trust me this time, Sandy. 'Kid' is just fine. Better than fine, coming from you."

"Better than fine?"

"Yeah. I mean, your saying it kinda' reminds me I am one, you know? Besides, I'd kinda' miss it, if you stopped."

Sandy smiled, "Yeah, kid, so would I."

"So we're good, right?"

Nodding, his guardian confirmed, "Those were the open items from Trey's hit list."

"Open items? There were others?"

Sandy seemed to equivocate, "Nothing else we need to talk about right now."

Willing to let that slide, just to avoid more talking, Ryan asked instead, "You really thought he was worried about me?"

The man's head nodded slowly, "I'm sure he was."

Trying to wrap his mind around that idea, Ryan drew in a steadying breath. He'd been trying for days to write Trey out of his life, seeing only the darkness inside his brother. Terrified of the answering darkness he'd found inside himself.

Maybe, just maybe – there was something better in both of them. This much he knew – it felt kind of nice to think Trey was looking out for him, even if the asshole didn't have a fucking clue what he was talking about. Typical Trey – seeing things his way, and assuming everyone thought like he did. In his own warped way, being the best brother Trey knew how to be.

Sandy spoke again, "Just so you know, I'm going over to the hospital tonight – let him know we talked. That we've worked through some things he was troubled by. If… if you want to come with me, you can."

Ryan shook his head quickly, "I'm not ready to see him, Sandy. But… would you give him a message?"

"Sure. What do you want me to tell him?"

Ryan frowned, not quite sure. "Tell him… tell him I'll be in touch. But that it's gonna' be a while this time."

"Of course," Sandy agreed, before reminding him, "When you do see Trey, I'm going to be with you. Don't forget."

"I won't. Forget, I mean."

His guardian assured him, "He'll understand you need time, kid. He'll be relieved to hear from you."

Softly, Ryan added, "And Sandy? Tell him we're still brothers."

Sandy's eyes met his unflinchingly, at once sympathetic and reassuring, "I'll be sure to tell him."

-------------------------------

They stood in silence for a few minutes, before Sandy spoke again. This time his guardian's voice sounded more hesitant, "Going back to what I call you, Ryan. There's another word I'd like your permission to use, too, kid. One I've used a little recently, on my own, but that I've avoided for the most part."

Ryan felt his heart climb into his throat.

Sandy spread one palm open, as though in supplication, "Look, kid, I don't know whether you've noticed, but I've been calling you 'son' some lately." His fingers recoiled as he waited silently for a reply.

"I've noticed," Ryan finally managed to say. How could he not have noticed?

Sandy's eyes locked onto his, "Like I've tried to tell you today, that's really how I feel about you, Ryan."

Ryan could only blink, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that all those 'sons' had been intentional, and not just slips of an anxious tongue.

His guardian's mind-reading abilities must have finally failed him, because the man offered, "I don't want to overstep your boundaries. I heard what you said to Seth this morning. About the word 'brother'. I understand if 'son' is an issue for you, too. Say the word Ryan, and I'll stop, I promise. "

"Don't."

Sandy's face fell a little, but then he managed an unconvincing smile as he nodded his understanding.

Ryan watched, confused. He replayed the scene, realizing what Sandy must have heard.

Hastily, he clarified, "I mean, don't stop. It… it's not real. I get that. But it's like… I dunno… a pretty awesome fantasy?"

One of Sandy's eyebrows lifted for a second, before it settled back into place. The new smile that took over the man's face was echoed in his eyes. "My fantasy, too, kid."

It was Kirsten's voice that brought them both out of their reverie.

"Ryan, honey, just so I know – does that permission extend to me, too?" She looked down uneasily at her hands, fiddling with her wedding ring as she waited for him to answer.

As if he'd deny her anything she asked for.

So why wouldn't the words come? He gave up, and shyly nodded his assent.

Her eyes lit up, "Thanks, _son_."

Damn it. He felt himself blushing, for about the thousandth time today. With a small, self-effacing smile he finally found his voice, "Guess it might take some getting used to."

She beamed, "That's okay, sweetie. We'll work on it for the next few decades."

He ducked his head, hoping her definition of a 'few' was as broad as Sandy's.

----------------------------------

"Walk with me, kid." Sandy ducked around the tree, steering Ryan down the shore, one hand at his back. Kirsten followed, staying about a half-step off their pace, and keeping well away from any water.

"Another phone call came while you two were out on the rocks. Your PO left a message – he wants to see us both at 7:30 next Saturday morning in his office."

Ryan stopped abruptly. "That's not good."

His foster father's hand squeezed his shoulder, "He's clearly punishing us – that hour on a weekend. But he said in the message he expected better from us both going forward. That we'd better come to him ready with some ideas."

"Going forward? He said that?"

Sandy nodded, "Among a few other things primarily directed at me."

"So that means…" Ryan led.

Sandy's voice had its parental ring, "That means we're in his office at 7:20, we're both on our best behavior, we answer his questions, and we listen respectfully to whatever admonishments he has in store for us. Capiche?"

"Yes, sir."

Sandy's sharp glance prompted him to explain, "Just practicing."

Shaking his head, Sandy observed wryly, "Not a bad idea…"

-------------------------------

They walked on for a few minutes before Kirsten asked, "What about Child Services, Sandy? Don't we still need to discuss what Mike said with Ryan?"

"Right. I almost forgot." Sandy stopped walking, stepping in front of Ryan.

"What about Child Services?" Ryan's stomach did that roiling thing it always did whenever Child Services was mentioned.

Sandy explained, "When I spoke to Mike Shuster, I made it clear that we want you to stay with us. That we're willing to do whatever it takes to make that work out. In theory, they've agreed, but first they want to make sure you still want to stay with us, kid. That you don't want to be reassigned."

Ryan drew back his head, his eyes narrowed, "Were they serious?"

Sandy snorted, 'Trust me, kid, they were serious. I've got the scars to prove it. They want to hear from you – hear what you want. So they'll be calling – setting up a time to speak with you. That's not a problem, is it?"

He shook his head, mystified that Child Services would think he'd want to leave the Cohens.

When he saw Sandy and Kirsten looking at him expectantly, he spoke, "No problem. I'll tell them whatever you want me to."

"I want you to tell them what you want to do," Sandy coached.

"I want to stay with you."

His foster parents exchanged a quick glance before Kirsten smiled, "That's what we've been counting on, sweetie. But it's lovely to hear you say it."

-------------------------------------

As they all continued walking, Sandy debated bringing up his final topic, wondering if it was too much for Ryan to handle right now. Or would it bring home just how serious they were?

They reached the cliffs that marked the northern border of Suriak, and turned to head back toward their alcove. He could see a few people sitting back under the trees, and some gardeners attending to flowerbeds, but the beach was deserted even here, away from their private haven.

They'd let their foster son fall back a few steps now, allowing him some space. Giving him a little time to think.

Kirsten's arm was looped loosely through Sandy's, her body bumping into his as they walked. Surprisingly, she didn't try to skitter away on those occasions when the waves reached up to slap her feet.

Or maybe not so surprisingly, he reflected.

She hadn't run from much of anything today.

Sandy retrieved a business card from his shirt pocket, and fingered it thoughtfully as they drew closer to their alcove.

Maybe it was time he stopped running, too.

He halted, looking at Kirsten. Showing her the card.

She nodded, and stepped back, motioning for Ryan to join them. "Sandy and I have something else we want you to think about, honey. You don't have to say anything, or make any decisions now, but we want you fill you in on something we've been talking about for quite a while now."

The kid's eyebrows wrinkled, "What?"

Sandy glanced at Kirsten, getting her final go-ahead before he spoke, "You'll be 18 soon, which as you know means we won't have your legal guardianship much longer. All that signifies is that a piece of paper expires – it has absolutely nothing to do with our relationship. We want to be clear about that."

Ryan blinked, "Is that another piece of what you mean by 'unconditional'?

Sandy smiled, "You'd better believe it, son."

Sandy noticed the boy's fleet glance and fleeter smile before the kid questioned, "So, what do you mean about decisions? What decisions do I need to make?"

Sandy drew in his breath, "You know how we've said we think of you as our son? But how we understand you have your own family? Your biological family?"

The boy's nod was wary.

"If it weren't for your family, we'd have brought this up before. You see, Ryan, we'd like you to consider letting us adopt you. Right now, though, that would be difficult, because we'd have to get your parents' permission. But when you turn 18, we only need yours."

"Adopt me?"

The words were awash with conflicting feelings. Sandy thought he heard surprise, and fear, and maybe concern. But he was pretty sure he heard interest, too.

He put an arm around the boy's shoulder, propelling him toward the alcove once more. "That's right, kid. Adopt you. Go through a legal procedure that would just confirm the informal relationship we already share, Ryan. It doesn't mean you have to give up your other family – legally, they wouldn't be responsible for you anymore, but the fact is regardless of legal responsibility, you'll always have biological ties to them. A legal procedure would never change that."

Ryan stopped, turning out of Sandy's grasp, "You want me to become a Cohen?"

"Depends on how you mean that. We want you to consider signing on with us permanently, from a legal perspective. Would we want you to change your last name to ours? That'd be completely up to you, kid. You could change your name, but you wouldn't have to. Atwood works fine, too. Or you could do something like taking 'Cohen' for a middle name. Or maybe just use the 'C'."

When the boy said nothing, Sandy tried teasing, "It'd finally give us a middle name to use when you're in trouble."

The kid groaned, "Now there's a really good reason to adopt someone."

Sandy countered, "Maybe not, but loving him and wanting him incontrovertibly in our family _is_."

The boy stood silent, biting his lip. He finally ducked his head, peering up through his eyelashes, "Sandy, I… I just don't know…"

Sandy soothed, "Of course you don't. That's why I want you to take time. Ask questions. Think about what would make you happy. Make you comfortable. Here, kid – I have something for you that should help."

Handing Ryan the business card, he explained, "This woman specializes in family law and adoptions – she's excellent, and she's easy to talk to. I've spoken with her – explained our situation. She's agreed to answer any questions you have – talk to you about the procedure, what's involved, what it all means. And she'll only tell me what you want me to know. Call her. Or don't call her. It's your choice. Okay?"

Ryan took the card, turning it over in his hands. "Siobhan O'Meara? That doesn't sound like a Newport name."

Sandy confessed, "Newport by way of New York, but she's been practicing here for fifteen years. I'm telling you, I've worked with her before. She's the best."

Ryan frowned, "This is… It's way too much."

Sandy smiled, "Don't you see, kid? In every other way that really matters to us, it's already done. Practically, physically, emotionally… you're part of this family right now. All this would do is ensure that relationship is recognized by the State of California.

"You'll be an adult by law – that wouldn't change. However, adoption would still make a difference for tax and inheritance purposes – health care issues – that kind of thing. The _main_ thing it would do though – the thing we care most about – is it would officially make us your parents, and you our son. And – Seth loves this part – you'd legally be his brother."

Sandy paused, before adding reflectively, "And honestly? The truth is, we'd like the whole world to know that you're ours."

Ryan shook his head as he waved the card, "You're saying Seth knows about this?"

"We talked to him a few months ago, when we started discussing what would happen when you turned 18. This impacts him, too. He knows you're already in our wills, and that we've established similar trust funds for you to those he already has. He knows that adoption would just make everything official. And as I'm sure you've guessed, he's thrilled by the idea. But I made it clear to him – no pressure. No bugging or begging or badgering you, okay?"

Ryan's face was a canvas of concern. "Wills? I don't want… your things should all go to Seth."

Kirsten shook her head, her voice brokering no further discussion, "Whatever we have will go to both our sons."

She frowned, "We assumed you knew you'd be provided for. But no more assuming going forward – we'll discuss estate issues with you someday soon, with this caveat. We're not changing our minds about our provisions for you."

The boy looked like he had something more to say, but then seemed to change his mind. Sandy was sure they'd hear further arguments later, but Kirsten's tone must have convinced the kid it was futile to argue now.

Sandy skipped ahead, "About this proposal, Ryan. Feel free to ask us questions, anytime. Or ask Siobhan. We're in no hurry – we can't do anything before you're 18, anyway. We can even wait longer than that, if you want. In the meantime, we'll talk more. Take your time, kid, and just think about it, okay?"

The boy looked down at the card again, rubbing a finger over the raised letters. At last, he stuffed it into one of his pockets. Looking back at Sandy he mumbled, "Okay, I'll think about it."

"That's all we're asking, Ryan. And believe me, kid, there's no wrong answer, 'cause whatever you decide about this, you're still our son. Nothing's gonna' change that."

They walked the rest of the way back to the alcove, Ryan pulling a few steps ahead. The boy excused himself as soon as they reached their freshly tended table, disappearing toward the bathhouse.

When Sandy rounded the far corner of the bathhouse five minutes later, he spotted Ryan leaning against the back side of the structure, one foot propped behind him. The kid was standing with his eyes closed, holding Siobhan's card in front of him with both hands.

Sandy backed away quietly. He could take another route.

-------------------------------

Ryan sat on the shore, just out of reach of the waves. His toes pushed into the soft hot sand, finding the cool dampness hidden underneath. It felt good, this soothing contrast to the broiled surface.

So many things were hidden, he thought. Covered or camouflaged, thus safe from outside view. Revealing their secrets only when someone dug deep enough to find them.

He was something like that. Sometimes invisible, sometimes disguised, but always out of sight. It used to be a matter of survival. Now? Habit, maybe? Or fear? Or had he forgotten how to be himself – had he ever really known just who that was?

He wondered if the Cohens were right – did their eyes see him more clearly than his own?

The truth was – the Cohens were starting to convince him lots of things were possible. Including things he'd never had much faith in, like unconditional love.

Cramming his hands into his pockets, he felt the business card resting safely where he'd stashed it. He wasn't sure what he thought about adoption, but knowing they'd actually considered it – were _still_ considering it – so seriously? Spoke volumes. It kinda' confirmed all the stuff they'd been telling him all day.

Maybe he'd call the lawyer. Just see what she had to say…

Scrunching his toes even deeper into the sand, he leaned back against his arms and closed his eyes. He let his thoughts collapse into fragments, tuning them out as he focused on the senses of touch, and sound, and smell.

The breeze ruffling his hair and billowing his shirt, the toasted sand under his hands, the surf's constant rhythm of rolling and crashing softly onto the shore before sliding back into the sea, the smell of salt water and fish…

He felt himself drifting, but it wasn't like before. This time, he had anchors – he wasn't going anywhere.

He felt Sandy's presence before the man spoke.

"Mind if I join you, son?"

Smiling to himself as the word 'son', with all its treasured connotations, was directed knowingly toward him, Ryan gently mocked, "So, now he asks for permission…"

Plopping down, Sandy smiled. "First rule of lawyering. Never ask a question you don't know the answer to."

Ryan laughed, "Blow that one a lot, don't you?"

The man's dimples deepened, as he nodded, "I've never been that good with rules. Taking chances, now? That's a different story all together."

"Like the chance you took with me?"

Sandy shrugged, "Only until I got to know you, kid. Then I realized I had a sure thing."

"You guys missing me?" asked Kirsten, approaching.

"Always," Sandy answered warmly.

She leaned down, kissing Sandy lightly on the lips before focusing on Ryan.

"This spot open?" she asked, indicating the vacant space beside him.

He squinted up at her, "Absolutely."

She sank fluidly into the sand, almost but not quite touching him.

"Your jeans are dry, sweetie – they're back at the table. You can change into them before you guys head home."

Ryan looked down at the salmon scrubs, sliding a finger into the slit he'd torn across his thigh. Amazed at all the dirt and dessert and dried salt that he'd managed to accumulate in just one day, he asked a little sheepishly, "Uh… Could I… I mean, do you think they want these pink things back?"

Kirsten's head tilted, and her eyebrows furrowed as she asked, "Why? You want to burn them?"

Ryan could feel his color rising a little as he explained, "I'd kind of like to keep them."

When he saw Kirsten's eyes widen, he hastened to add, "I'll pay for them. I've got some money left from my job last summer."

"I'm not concerned about the money, Ryan. It's just, I thought you hated them."

Shrugging self-consciously, Ryan admitted, "I did. I do. But…"

He stopped, gathering his courage. "It's just – today's been so surreal in so many ways, I'm afraid I'll think maybe I just imagined it. I guess this probably sounds weird, but I'd like to keep these so I'll know that it really happened."

His foster-mother smiled, her voice thick, "That's really not so weird, honey. I kinda' feel the same way."

"So it's okay? Keeping them, I mean?"

"Mmm-hmm. All yours, sweetie. Throw them in the laundry – I'm sure Rosa can clean them up for you."

"No! No laundry," he said quickly, "The stains and all? They mean something, too. I'll remember what was going on when I got each trail of dirt, or when I made the hole, or when we got drenched with salt spray. Or when you made me spill that mango stuff. So they stay as they are? Okay?"

Kirsten blinked, before she slid her arm around his waist and hugged him, "As they are. Memories intact."

She pulled back, looking across Ryan at a silently pleading Sandy, "And don't worry, honey, you can keep yours, too."

Sandy grinned happily, "Aw, sweetheart, you're too good to me."

"I was just thinking that," she teased, before leaning close to Ryan's ear and whispering under her breath, "Mmmm. I can almost taste that bacon!"

----------------------------------

Ryan glanced sideways, first at Kirsten and then at Sandy. He wasn't sure how long they'd all been sitting here, only inches from one another. His foster parents were staring companionably out across the Pacific, outwardly at peace. They seemed content to sit quietly with him, silently offering him everything he'd ever dreamed of having.

Softly, he made his own offering, borrowing their words.

"You know that I love you, too, right? Because I do. It's just… It's not…it's not so easy for me to say."

Kirsten whispered, "Believe me, sweetie, we know how you feel. As for how hard it is to say the words? Remember what I said, Ryan. We're not leaving. Loving us out loud won't make us go away."

He ducked his head, thinking maybe Sandy wasn't the only mind-reader between these two.

When he looked back up at Kirsten, she was smiling tenderly. She touched his face, holding him lightly while she kissed his cheek. "See? I'm still here, and you said it to me once before, remember? You even wrote it down."

Ryan swallowed, realizing the only one he hadn't told before was Sandy. How the hell had that happened?

Before he could come up with anything close to the words he needed, Sandy wrapped an arm across his shoulder, pulling him close.

When his guardian spoke, his voice was husky, "Like Kirsten said, we know you love us. But Ryan? Expressing your feelings out loud? That's a huge step, kid. And I know it's hard at first – I really do. It does get easier, though, I promise."

Ryan responded softly, "I should have told you before."

Sandy shook his head, releasing Ryan from his grasp. "Don't go on any guilt trips, kid. Know this – I hear a fair share of the things you say every day without speaking. And since you've been with us? Trust me, I've heard you 'say' you love me in a hundred different ways."

----------------------------------

After lingering, bittersweet goodbyes, Kirsten turned away from them with a parting smile, holding her head high as she walked back toward the Center.

Ryan stood frozen, watching until she disappeared from view. He was sure that Sandy's heart must be breaking a little right now, seeing Kirsten leave. His was.

And yet, the fact that she wanted so desperately to get well? That she was that committed to her – _their_ – family? The fact that she was willing to do what Dawn had never done? There were simply no words to express how much that meant to him. All his words seemed far too small.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been frozen, before his thoughts were interrupted by Sandy's movement. Strolling over to where Ryan stood, the man busied himself rolling up his pair of scrubs and tucking them under his arm.

Nodding toward where they had entered the grounds, Sandy raised his eyebrows.

"We've got a hike back to the car, kid. Ready to go home?"

Ryan nodded, "Home sounds good."

----------------------------

As he walked along the shore with Sandy, Ryan shook his head.

It was inconceivable, really.

Four days ago, he'd nearly killed his brother. He'd thought then that he deserved to die.

Three days ago he'd been too numb to really think.

Two days ago the terror had settled in. The nightmares started, and Kirsten's letter came.

Like a coward, he'd tried to find his own pathway to oblivion, and damn near succeeded.

Instead, he'd come face to face with Sandy Cohen. He'd come face to face with all his lies and pretences, too, sure he'd lost everything and everyone he loved.

He'd known with certainty that everything had changed.

One day ago, he'd resolved to face his future, accepting that he'd earned whatever came his way. That meant facing Seth, and finding the courage to respond honestly to Kirsten.

Today, he'd faced a Cohen 'intervention'.

And against all odds, after telling them the truth – explaining everything he'd done and failed to do…

They told him they believed in him. They told him they understood things he couldn't even wrap his head around.

They said that what he'd done could be forgiven.

And they told him that they loved him.

Unconditionally.

Today, everything in his world had changed again.

He glanced at Sandy, knowing his guardian – _his would-be-father – _was watching him.

Breaking the silence, Ryan spoke, "So, I guess we're finally finished, huh?"

"Guess again, kid." The heavy voice belied the lighter words.

Ryan halted in his tracks, eyebrows knitted.

Moving closer Sandy smiled, placing one hand easily against his back before explaining, "We're not 'finally finished', Ryan. We're finally _beginning._"

-------------------------------------

_fin_

**A/N 3:** _Writing is a solitary art – countless hours spent with people who only live in stories. That's why reviews are so very special – they provide the connection to real life and real people. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, and will review this final chapter. And my deepest thanks to those of you who have been so very faithful. _

_You've all made it all worthwhile. And now, I say farewell…_


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